


More Than Enough

by Scarletnumber



Category: One Piece
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Romance, Self-Insert, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Will add as I go along
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:01:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26574937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarletnumber/pseuds/Scarletnumber
Summary: You didn't know the man, but knew enough from just how he liked his cup of coffee.It was in the details, after all.Modern AU. Reader/OC. Just my appreciation for Marco. Lots of fluff I guess!
Relationships: Fushichou Marco | Phoenix Marco/Original Female Character(s), Fushichou Marco | Phoenix Marco/Reader
Comments: 26
Kudos: 106
Collections: A Labyrinth of Fics, oc self insertSI





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i know it's never a good idea to start a new project in the middle of a writer's block w my other work, but that is EXACTLY what i am doing :D Have no idea where I am going with this, but please enjoy the ride anyway.

“Here you go.”

Your smile seemed to melt into your face as you look up to meet his eyes.

Definitely not love at first sight. At your grown age, there was no longer such thing. But there was still a lot to admire, even if he is a regular customer and you barely know a thing about him. Just how he likes his coffee, how kind he is to your team, and how keenly observant he is. You just know that suddenly, within the span of a few months, this regular you have often seen frequent your café has gotten friendlier - enough to now conjure small talk. Didn’t hurt nor did it feel like a waste of time, since he is so tall and well built. His blonde hair was very, _very_ odd to you at first, but his pineapple shaped head is now all too familiar in your afternoon routine at work. Too much of something you have been looking forward to during your shifts. 

“Thanks,” the man mutters with a wider smile. His half-lidded eyes flutters down to catch your nametag, as if he is learning it for the first time. But once again, it is not spoken. You’ve already come to accept it was highly possible that you will never hear him say your name for as long as you work here. He was often so calm and reserved, that even his most enthusiastic comments held the politest tone. But that does not sink your heart as you are heavily distracted by his incredibly long lashes.

“Have a good one.”

After his last words, you watch him slowly grab his drink, taking his time before his eyes tore away from you. You quietly sigh to yourself as you watch his broad back walk away. You wonder if he works nearby. No bag, no suit jacket. Always stopping by in the afternoon like a lunch break.

“Oh wow, I didn’t know _that_ was your type. Didn’t expect that.”

Briefly ignoring that comment, you take in a deep breath as you immediately tear your eyes away from the window the moment you saw the man’s head turn back towards the cafe. You did not want to get your own hopes up, nor did you want to be caught staring, no matter how respectfully you've been staring. You look at the owner of the voice - a younger man who you recently hired. As he smirks at you, you feel a vein pop on your temple. First, it was the over friendly tone. Then, it was the excessive compliments that were borderline inappropriate. There was also the lack of respect towards his other co-workers. You can file for sexual harassment. Or maybe you should simply fire him.

“Get back to work, please,” you mutter as you take the next order to make. Today definitely should have been your day off. But someone had called out and no one else wanted to cover. Of course, as store manager, here you were, covering for a shift. But perhaps lucky you that you are here. It had earned you some extra few minutes of conversation with that man. Your mood is still awfully high from it, still too busy recalling your conversation to be concerned about penalizing a worker for calling out the day of.

_You had picked up the cup and read the name and order, but you already knew the order the moment you laid eyes on the written name. Marco. Looking up, you met a pair of eyes behind glasses, warm and in full recognition of you. The same warmth of recognition dawns on you and you smile and greet him from your side of the counter._

_“I didn’t expect you to work today,” his grin widened in tune to yours. Your spirits seemed lifted at the idea that he noticed your days off._

_“Well, odd. I didn’t either!” You spoke out sarcastically, your laugh following his in a familiar lower tone. Polite, but friendly enough to continue the light afternoon convo._

_“Covering?”_

_“Unfortunately,” You muttered, shaking your head. “These kids, I swear.”_

_He was grinning as he watched you start on a prior order, observing again. “It’s often a bunch of college kids when it comes to coffee shops. You manager, right?”_

_“Babysitter. Manager,” You closed the lid of a previously finished order and slipped a sleeve onto it. “Same thing.”_

_You heard a chuckle as you slid an order and called out a name. You greeted the customer, feeling Marco’s eyes on you. You gave your warmest smile to another regular, like as if you saw an old friend. You proceeded onto Marco’s order. Knew it like the back of your hand. You figured – and was confirmed by him during a previous small talk – that he, just like you, was a creature of habit. He liked his coffee in a particular way and did not stray from it. Routines, as you both agreed, gave a sense of calmness and clarity._

_“How long you’ve been babysitting?”_

_“Oh geez,” you laughed as you attempt to recall. “Years. Thinking about finally stepping out. Wander about.”_

_“Really?” The man spoke but not from surprise. You recognize the curiosity in his tone. “You seem so good at what you do. You must be manager for a reason.”_

_You gave him a polite, thankful smile. You hoped he meant it. “I appreciate that. I guess my feet hurts being on it all day. I’m not getting any younger.”_

_Marco gently held up a hand and jokingly shook his head. “I’m not gonna hear this from you. Especially from someone like you.”_

_You laughed as you finish up his order, ears red from his subtle compliment. “What are you talking about? You can’t be that much older than me.”_

_“I take that back,” he shook his head again, but his grin was wider now, a bit sly and mischievous. Your heart fluttered from his eyes - although laidback as usual, it was unwavering and glued onto you. “Now you’re just ass-kissing.”_

_You dramatically placed a hand on your chest in mocked offense and watched his smile reach his eyes even more. “With this job? Never.”_

_In fact, his first impression of you was probably last autumn season, when he had seen you snap and whip the previous team in order during an emergency - a broken machine, intense rush hour and one too many delirious customers - all dealt with swiftly and professionally under your strict directing. However, he was the only guy who caught and found your cynical attitude, subtle jabs, and muttered commentary during work amusing. One of those kind and patient regulars anyone at work genuinely appreciated, but shined even brighter when they took the extra step to get to know the workers in the café they often frequent. There was something appreciative about specific customers who understood that even folks working in customer service have individual personalities, and that is absolutely okay as long as service was respectfully provided. It made any worker’s day. It sure as hell made yours when it came to him. You felt a hint of satisfaction as you watch his eyes and smile linger on you out of pure amusement from your sarcasm._

_“Well, whatever your future endeavors,” The man named Marco began in a concluding tone. Polite as usual. “I’m sure you’ll kill it.”_

_You laughed, gently putting a sleeve onto his hot cup. “I hope you mean it. I’ll need all the best wishes I can get.”_

_You were smiling at each other before you slid his cup towards him. “Here you go.”_

“You’re really not that old to be looking for guys that much older,” the new kid started again. “Way too pretty for him, boss.”

Rush hour was gradually ending, and it seemed the kid had more time in his hands to annoy you rather than leaving a lasting impression on his new job. Perhaps Robin is right. You should really venture past shop manager of a café surrounded by college kids. After all, this café is just way too close to a nearby campus. After multiple raises and promotions, you've grown comfortable with the pay, but you find your patience growing thinner the older you get. You sigh as you remember your initial team compared to the team now. The team you were a part of versus the team you are now in charge of. From barista to store manager…you are the last granny left. You have been slowly begun to think it really is time for you to venture out a bit, even if you are just a bit past your mid twenties. You did not care what anyone says, but anyone in their mid-twenties absolutely do _not_ have their shit together.

 _Thirties must be the new twenties,_ you mentally mutter to yourself. _Please be the new twenties._

“Kid,” You start as you look over your watch. “I am a lot older than you think. And watch your mouth. He’s a regular here.”

And can wipe this kid like a rag, from what you can tell. The muscles you’ve seen under his dress shirt, and the abnormally large tattoo on his chest that sometimes peeked out on a good day from a sometimes too white of a dress shirt. You can just picture Robin’s amused face over your blatant thirst.

Robin’s job offer she had given to you last Monday flashes through your head. You almost hold your breath at that sudden reminder. You have only a few more days left to think it over. But truly, there is not much to think over. Your heart lightly sinks at the realization that, even today, your regulars seemed to be sending you off without knowing. The universe must be giving you signs. Maybe it is dealing you a new hand.

“How old are you?” The kid starts again after you gave another order out. “You don’t look that much older than me.”

You stare at him, his intentions and approach more than clear to you. You have had too many years of experience under your belt to not notice hidden intentions. Perhaps you will fire him.

“You saying that is already proof how young you are,” Your arms crossed as you condescendingly stare at him. “Now do you want this job or not? You need to pay for your classes or not?”

Shutting his mouth and straightening his back, he salutes to you. Rolling your eyes, you stare out the window. It is a nice day. The summer weather was finally shaken off and the leaves on trees are slowly and shyly shedding its vivid green.

If you ever do leave this job, you’re really going to miss the regulars here.


	2. Chapter 2

“Stop it,” you warn your coworker standing next to you. Her eyes were puffy as she sniffled. You gave an apologetic look to your regular across the counter. After one final good luck and her best wishes to you, the customer walked out of the shop. You turned to look back at your peer.

“You act like I will never see you again. You have my number!”

“I know,” the young woman's voice croaks out. “But still! Won’t be the same. Store won’t be the same without you.”

You sigh helplessly. She is so precious. Just a few years younger than you, but Maya has learned so much under your wing, if not more. You expect she will exceed as manager after you leave. You had ensured it, and hoped to see her do even more than you can ever. She was bright and bubbly, made everyone cheerful and energetic. Her approach in services was fresher, where your style was always brash, flirty, and sometimes borderline rude if one was a bit too pompous to understand your humor and expressions. It showed from the regulars you attracted - all tired workers who loved a good laugh of a mocking joke, or a few last-minute venting during the last hour of you closing shop. But you were excited for what kind of new regulars the café will attract once she took over and found her style of management. She is suited for the young college kids the café was always filled with. You pat her head.

“It will be better with you as manager now.”

A quiet whine came out as you watch tears threaten to return. You laugh at the crybaby.

Your heart sinks just a bit slightly. You feel like a ship, tilting to these unpredictable waves. Waves of excitement for next week, waves of sadness for leaving a place you devoted so many years to, waves of attachment you know you are severing – each and every one of them relentlessly crashing towards you. It does not overwhelm you, but it leaves you swaying as you briefly lose your emotional footing. You had given your two weeks and had insisted Maya as your replacement. Now you are on your last day and oddly, for some reason, the staff seemed more solemn than usual. A reluctance and sadness never vocally expressed, as the crybaby before you has been expressing more than enough.

Turnovers were way too common and frequent in food and retail, so it was expected that you would see more than one of your co workers come and go. But you are leaving - a person who had been in this café for years. It felt surreal to the staff, both old and new. Still, you did not really expect much of a reaction to your departure. You had planned to quietly leave. The rest of the staff had found out literally just yesterday from the announcement of Maya’s promotion. You feel a bit guilty and a bit embarrassed. You did not like making a big deal of things like these. If you did not have bills to pay and did not have the strong urge to always see through something no matter how small, you would have abruptly stopped showing up the moment you had told your boss you quit.

You look out the window as the volume of the café seems to rise. More folks are rushing in now. It is nearing noon and everyone needed their fix of drinks, even yourself. You have been exhausted from both wrapping up your position here in the café and preparing such intense paperwork for your new job, with the help of Robin. You were given a subtle reminder that, truly, some jobs outside of retail and customer service are really extensive and thorough when positions don’t expect as many turnovers. Your heart almost stops in anxiety at that thought. You have lots of experience in different areas under your resume, but knowing Robin was vouching for you made you develop an intense pressure on yourself.

You lean back against the counter and take your own sip of coffee. Your work here is done. At this point, on your last day, you were just a mere shadow now as you watch Maya do your work effortlessly. You were no longer needed here, and it made you relieved. You were proud of these kids, as it seems this new team finally weeded out their worst. It felt like the work environment was at a peaceful status. You pray to the gods above to keep it this way. It was rare to find and keep such a communicative and fun workplace. May they look after both Maya and you as you guys start your new paths.

You have decided to sit back and relax, only to come in and make drinks for your favorite regulars. You peeked out the window near the entrance again. It was near New Years and as bright as it was outside, the sun is completely masked by thick clouds. It is about to snow. Perhaps you should head home early today. Relax indoors and allow yourself to start your week’s rest before you start the next chapter in your life. As you imagine being snuggled in your bed indoors as the snow came down, you feel the exhaustion creep further into your body. Placing your cup down, you decide to help Maya as it seems rush hour did in fact start.

You hear a familiar, smooth voice near the cashier. Looking up towards that direction as you finished an order, you watch your staff member take his order. It was Marco again, here for his usual afternoon coffee. Your eyes catch his and he gives you a small acknowledging smile as he finishes his order. Smiling, you make your way towards the cashier quietly. With a gentle gesture, you excuse yourself and quietly reach over your staff’s shoulder to handle the register slightly, inputting something for your staff to deal with. After that, you walk away, back to making the rest of the orders. You hear your staff decline Marco’s card after his order was indeed taken.

You continue, order after order, carefully making them. This will be the last fucking time you have to deal with this, you mentally note. After this, you swore you will never make another complicated brew ever again. Every coffee drink you make will be for yourself. The café had drained all enthusiasm of coffee out of you.

“You really shouldn’t have,” a voice comes down the line. “That was very sweet of you.”

You look up and saw the man you were relieved to see one last time. A grin broke out before you can help yourself. What a sight to see. His flush cheeks from the cold. Even in his coat, his form and posture were spectacular. Navy looked amazing on him. He really is very handsome. You felt Maya discreetly put an empty cup into your free hand. You looked down and see his order. Bless her soul, Maya. You really will miss her.

“Think of it as a holiday treat from me,” you perk up, your voice a bit too high. “On the house.”

There was a subtle silence you pick up from him, the type where he was observing and later realizing that something was different today. Again, you find you will miss greeting a person who seemed to like picking up details as much as you do. After all, you have never treated any of your regulars to a free drink. He had witnessed your own savage banter against groups of young guys trying to milk out a number, a free day or drink from you. Or when a customer thought they can really push your buttons. You never submitted to any pressure from customers, no matter how it made you look. However, you felt bold on your last day and felt like showing appreciation to the guy who has been such a pleasant eye candy during your time working here. When you look up after finishing his order, he had an eyebrow raised, with his usual small smile settled onto his face. His eyes always keen and unwavering when set on you. Often you had found yourself always breaking contact with them because it felt like he absorbed a lot more of you than you were prepared for. But hell, today is your last day. He can take in as much of an impression of you as he would like.

 _Take it all in_ , you mentally say. _It’s not much but, take it all in, baby._

Holding his eye contact with a soft smile, you snap the lid onto his drink and slip a sleeve onto it. The silence between you guys was both welcoming yet shy. Amongst the chaotic noises in the café, the apparent attention and acknowledgement of each other’s presence looming around you guys screamed louder. You let it sit, hoping it to be as loud as it can be, as apparent and obnoxious as it can be. As you look at him, you also realize you have not spoken his name since the first time you had annoyingly called it out way months back.

_You looked at the order you made in a blind rush of adrenaline. You have had it. You had to do everything here. You missed your old staff. You grit your teeth as you pray to the gods above to stop testing your patience. There is nothing to test; you are not looking for enlightenment, just a day without any complications. You looked down at the drink you just made, the cup scribbled with the name Marco. You've always called out his drink instead of his name, since it was such a particular brew. It was a habit - you tended to call out more specific orders for customers, so both you and them were aware that their preferences were noted and followed. But today, these same customers have been giving you such a hard time that you've strayed way off your routine and that irritated you to no extent. So fuck it. You raised your voice a lot louder than you had wanted, unable to properly control your anger._

_“Polo!”_

_You placed the order down and called out another name for another drink you had in hand. You could not wait to go home, take a long shower, scrub all the spilled drinks and syrup away, light up a candle and just relax. Or maybe, if the right customer made the right complaint, you might call up the girls and get shit wasted. A regular came up and took the second cup, apologizing for her tantrum over your new worker._

_“No frets ma’am. Cross our fingers and hope the new kid learns the tip and tricks in a matter of eight hours on his first day!”_

_The appalled and awkward look of the woman towards your ever so pleasant smile lets you know she would either come here less frequently or never come back at all. She knew you were the manager. There is literally no one else to bitch to, for you had already defended your own worker as they had done nothing wrong. You held eye contact with her as you continued giving her a genuine smile. As mad as you were, you smiled, because you took pride in your team, as messy and young as they are. They were young, different, tired, and still learning - still trying. So you smile, letting her know she will have to take it as it is, or leave. Your eyes were unblinking and patient, challenging her to say anything else, but she doesn't. As she walks away, you feel yourself rage even more as you recall how that woman had the nerve to complain about an accent. An accent! It was not you she should be apologizing to. Goodness. Grown folks can really be brats. After a few seconds of more rushed orders, you peeked the initial cup sitting on the counter that belonged to a Marco. No one picked it up yet. You yelled out again._

_“Marco!”_

_You glanced up at the tall guy approaching the counter. His eyebrows were raised and seemed to be trying his best to hide his amused look. You realized he was someone familiar as you have seen his face often in this café. Most importantly, you have also caught one too many times his amused and very entertained look when you were passively raging during the worst of rush hours. You gritted your teeth again at that thought. You could not give a single shit if these folks even tried to complain about of how you served their drinks. For some reason today, everyone seemed to have a bad day and was taking it out on your staff. You understood your place working in customer service, but at a certain point, you wonder if folks understand how bad of character it is to be so mean and borderline offensive over a cup of coffee. At this point, you didn’t care if you get your first warning today, as you were feeling extra bold. Out of pure irritation of today's shift, and of course your inevitable temper, you spoke another comment in a drawled, dramatic voice before continuing the next batch of rushed orders. You can hear the slight monotone, unimpressed tone underlying your own voice as you looked down at the next cup._

_“I did say ‘polo’, my love. C’mon now!”_

_“If you had just called me your love, I wouldn’t have hesitated.”_

_Before you can stop yourself, you broke out into a grin at his comment. Finally, a voice that didn’t sound defensive, offended, or passive aggressive for once today. Flirty and thoroughly entertained, his satisfied voice had reached out to you like a pat on the shoulder. That instant recognition made you look up as you watch the tall man cheer his cup to you, giving you a lazy grin before he walked away._

Amongst the calls and shouts surrounding you guys, you decide to take your time. There was no rush, no penalty, no harm.

“Marco,” you breathe out in almost a helpless, sweet tone. Oh, Juliet can learn a few tricks from you. That very fine difference of his widened eyes did not slip by you.

You slowly extend his cup towards him instead of placing it on the counter. You give him the warmest smile and mentally hope the best of your wishes reached him from here on out, as you did with the very few other favorite regulars you had already seen today. From your next words, you mentally hope it reached to him everything you wish you can say - how you wish him the best, wish him the all the luck, and wish he knew what an achingly amazing body he has. He has set the bar in your mind from here on out, ruling out any other person who dare to cross your path sharing his name. Impeccable. Spectacular. Godsent. Perhaps you have been enlightened already.

Your smile is widening at your silly thoughts, but made your words that much happier.

“Please enjoy your day for me, love.”

-

  
Marco tried to hide his small smile behind his drink as he looked over the patient’s file. He peered at his watch. About ten more minutes left of his break.

“You seem a bit chipper,” a staff commented as she placed another file on top of his desk. He looked up as he was snapped out of his thoughts.

“Oh?” Marco mumbled out, putting his drink back towards his lips. “Guess it’s the caffeine.”

A chuckle faded out his office as he was left to his own thoughts. He looked up at his computer screen at the test results. Today was going to be a busy day. On top of that, Thatch was coming to meet up with him after he was done. They were to have a dinner party. It was expected since the holidays were starting. Pops had returned from travel, Ace was graduating from college (finally), and Izo seemed to be in town. All he wanted to do was go straight home and do absolutely nothing. But perhaps a change of routine may be nice. A cup of beer with his brothers instead of tea.

He just prayed no more binge drinking but praying seemed useless. Family gatherings seemed to always, _always_ consist of drinking. Even at Pop’s age and health, he never listened to Marco and has stubbornly stuck with his vices. Marco can hold his liquor, but he was not in the mood to deal with the aftermath of his brothers. His hangover was playing mother hen for a group of grown men. It was sick.

Slowly, his mind lingered back to the woman in the café. What a smile. Honestly, what a treat.

After this afternoon, he was tackling the realization that he had looked forward to seeing the woman in his daily routine more than he would like to admit. He was not heavily eager to see her, as they were complete strangers after all. It was just like extra icing on a cake. It was always nice to see her when he went to get his afternoon coffee.

He had been frequenting the café often since he relocated himself to this medical office this past year. For once, he thoroughly enjoyed the location. It was a lot more convenient and a lot closer to family. The fact a nearby café was close by to his workplace was ideal. He needed one in the afternoon just to get through his days. And it so happened that there seemed to be one worker out of the café that caught his eye almost immediately, and he was sure he wasn’t the only customer that felt this. She was very pretty and very charming. He had seen the way she had professionally thwarted off any person attempting to approach her while she made their order. He had kept a distance since he noticed the slight twitch behind her stiff smile every single time someone had attempted to hit on her. But he could not help watching, as her subtle mockery and jabs towards certain customers were too entertaining when it flew over these customers’ heads.

The woman was very precise. You can tell from her focus on detail and way of multi-tasking. His smile broke out more as he recalled one afternoon, watching the woman try to distract herself from her own nerves as she bellowed out a song playing in the cafe, all the while making sure not a single drink made was incorrect, even her own team mates’. It was genuinely impressive, as he had also worked at a café during his college days. It was already a hassle trying to ensure a steady pace and prevent traffic behind the counter, so it was actually quite fascinating to watch the line he waited in swiftly decrease the moment the woman was running around, back and forth, entertaining both her own staff and folks in line. She knew how to play spectacle to customers and got away with a lot because of it.

She was probably the most professionally unprofessional person he has gotten the privilege of watching. But Marco sensed she was just too comfortable in her job, which naturally happens when one as skillful and experienced spends and builds years into their position. One can get away with a lot, when they become overqualified for their position but does not leave. Her patience was immaculate but was nonexistent for any kind of inconsistency or offense, whether from her own staff or customers. What he most certainly enjoyed was how often her way of managing was much too similar to how he had handled his family - brash and unfiltered but was always purely and genuinely out of their best interest – never without roasting someone at least one time. He was sure she would have had a riot at one of his family gatherings. He would spent a lot of money on drinks for her just to witness it. There was a sense of unwavering confidence in her that seemed almost hard to look away. Like a scent, it was subtle but strong and distinct enough for you to follow when you caught it, to ask what it was. Despite her brash comments and her frank approach to her work, her movements and work ethic seemed close to elegant to him. Her own team seemed to think the same way, from what he noticed. 

For the past few months, he noticed the influx of customers during rush hours, to the point where he had even stopped coming by in the evening for one more cup of coffee at the end of his work day and opted to just make his own brew when he got home. Traffic in the shop during the evening was too much of a headache for Marco after a long day. He found there were more regulars during that time, folks who she found more comfortable to keep a long conversation with. It got too exhausting for him to even watch because he could not comprehend where she gets the energy from. He swore that woman can run a successful bar and run any person’s money dry. He knew he would have allowed her to run his wallet dry if it meant just enjoying a drink around her. Marco had seen it in how the woman had memorized names so easily, how she always remembered to ask whenever she had the chance how a customer was, able to follow up on almost everything simultaneously. Most importantly was her intense attention to detail, picking up regulars’ preferences so quickly. He always enjoyed and found comfort in finding a fellow person who was also as attentive to detail as he was. He had wondered how she had not found a better job to fine tune her skills.

Marco again found himself slipping back to early this afternoon.

The sudden change of routine and demeanor from her gave him such a pleasant surprise he was left speechless and now with a burst of his own confidence. Done so smoothly and calmly, she had treated him to a coffee drink without bothering for his reaction. He also could not shake off when she had reached out and offered his drink by hand, instead of just placing and sliding it to him. When she, for once, did not break eye contact with him (to his disappointment, since he did enjoy making her a bit flustered), he was close to stunned from his caffeine deprived, lack of sleep mind. He remembered how his name came out of her lips, and how he almost held his breath. Now, sitting in his office fully recovered from his lunch break, he just realized he never had the chance to call her by her name.

Or was too shy to. But at his age, his own pride refused to let him admit that. Or the fact these small interactions still peaked his attention and interest when they were nothing but very pleasant pick-me-ups to get through the day. If a pretty woman wanted to give slight attention to him, he can’t complain. His smile widened as he recalled the subtle sweeping of her eyes on him he often caught when she thought he did not notice. Honestly, sometimes he thinks she did not care whether he noticed or not. At this point, he could not determine the extent of her boldness.

But she truly had a gorgeous smile when mockery, sarcasm, or formality was not masking it.

Ah, for him to be just a bit younger. Surely, he was beyond her age preference even if she was a grown woman, no matter how people often mistaken him to be their age. His instinctual mischievousness he had gotten from being raised with his whole chaotic group of brothers did not help either. No matter how old you get, it seems you often find that kid in your heart jumps out. And then, in a blink of an eye, another year passes, marking and reminding you that you are in fact getting older. Adulting never ends, but for once, it would be nice to catch a damn break.

He thought about it. Perhaps that is why it was so pretty. No matter how tired she was, her smile never showed it with the next person. Annoyance, anger, mockery – yes, for those with quick eyes. But no matter how rough and boisterous the process was, getting you your cup to start or continue your day always ended with her smile. Whether her smile meant a ‘fuck you’, ‘good morning’, ‘good afternoon’, or just a curt ‘goodbye’ – all were expressed in different faces of hers so brightly. It reminded him of Ace’s and Luffy’s smiles. Sometimes youth never escapes a smile, and it is rarely often you find a smile like that be kept as one ages. He most certainly believed he had lost his own a long time ago. He felt silly as he found the corner of his lips could not stop moving up as the expression on her face today seemed so personalized for him, just like this cup of coffee. Something good must have happened to her today. But again, that was not his business. He was just another local after all, just someone who had the privilege of bearing witness of her.

Marco took a deep breath, hoping more oxygen can clear and refresh his mind as he put down his cup. He needed to get this day over with. Tonight will be a long night.

…Maybe he’ll even stop by the café just for one more pick-me-up.

But even with the day ending earlier than expected - even when he had arrived in the café in hopes of killing time waiting for Thatch, she was nowhere in sight.

By the window, Marco quietly took a deep breath as he sipped on his hot cup of coffee, listening to the staff members and few other familiar regulars behind him comfort the girl named Maya, who was apparently still mourning over the woman Marco had hoped to see. She appeared to have left for another job. 

After peering at his watch, he sipped on his cup of coffee as he recalled her smile. She knew she was giving him his last pick-me-up. A bittersweet smile grew on his lips.

Bold woman, he thought. A lot bolder than him.

A sigh escaped him as he somehow felt intensely old and tired. Small moments seem ever more fleeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a bit long as i got carried away, but really enjoyed writing this chapter. i hope you enjoy.

omg  
  
your favorite fruit stopped by just now

:o

A smile creeps onto your mouth before you can help yourself. Shaking your head at the preview of your notifications, you put your phone face down against the tablecloth. A tinge of excitement and sadness hugs you as you let the subtle bittersweetness wash over you. You take a deep breath as you allow this foreign smile to settle on your face.

“What’s so amusing?”

You look back up at the pair of blue eyes that almost seem to glow from the candle-lit table. You almost hold your breath at the sight because they see you and everything within you.

“By heavens,” You speak in your best Hollywood voice. “Ya look smashing under the moonlight, darling.”

Mellow giggles ring out from Robin’s lips before she has another forkful of pasta. Sighing at such melodic sounds, you grab your glass of wine.

“Maya just texted me. Said that guy stopped by again.”

“Oh,” Robin amuses as she mirrors your move. She swirls her wine glass just a bit before tilting it towards her lips.

“The body-like-a-Greek-god guy? Marco, isn’t it?”

You could not hide your smile as you recite to her Maya’s text.

Robin’s giggle rings out again. “I thought your favorite fruit was strawberries.”

“Pineapple now, my dear.”  
  
You proceed to (once again) talk about your enlightenment of human bodies built like Greek gods, and once again, Robin talks of your lack of courage to take chances stemming from your fear of losing whatever security you are attached to. Casual talk, as usual.

As you glance around, this restaurant’s interior pleases your eyes. Ridiculously packed, but as expected for a five-star Michelin restaurant. Earlier today, Robin surprised you and dragged you out on your last day of work for a celebratory dinner. Tonight marks the start of a nice, week-long break from working. You take another sip of the wine. The food is delicious, and the complementary wine Sanji provided tonight is perfect.

As you continue to look around and see the rest of the diners here in this beautiful, rustic, yet modern setting, you feel almost out of place. Their elegance seems different from your own. You had learned yours to survive and make a living. Everyone here seems to have been bred by it, fed by it, and raised by it. You are grateful your turtleneck sweater is covering your tattoos. You clear your throat, diverting your attention back to Robin, who you find staring at you.

“Are you nervous about something?”

“Not really,” your voice comes a pitch too high and you find one of your hands reaching up to fidget with the hem of your turtleneck. “You know how I get in established places like this.”

Robin put down her wine glass. You watch her dainty fingers gently let go of her glass. She props her chin on one hand, leaning in closer to you. Robin has been through hell and back with you, grew up with you – yet after all these years you are reminded once again, somehow, the beauty and elegance she long held seems to always leave you in a trance. She fit right into this setting you were admiring so much of.

“You’re fine. You look beautiful.”

Your smile deepens as you admire her. “As do you.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Robin starts again. “We can always go to a bar later. Wind down there. Nami should be at The Grove tonight.”

“How are my beautiful ladies doing?”

A waft of cinnamon and tobacco enwraps your senses. You feel someone hovering intimately close above you with an arm on your chair. Looking up, you see a blonde guy looking down at you with a smile before looking back at Robin.

Robin gave him a loving smile. “Perfect as always. This is delicious.”

“Thank you, Sanji,” you affirm along. “This was exactly what we needed.”

Before you can register it, your hand was already lifted and cupped by his. Habitually, you grit your teeth slightly at the nonconsensual touch. But for him – and only him - you allow it to slide, as he had proven multiple times in the past to mean no harm from it.

You can recall the wrath he inflicted on men who have given any trouble or red flags towards the women in his life – even a time where he had helped you from a bad situation and not even once brought it up to hold over your head. Like as if he casually opened a door for you as a polite gesture, he never bothered a second thought over it despite how it impacted you and possibly saved you years of recycled trauma. If you were truly uncomfortable with anything, Sanji would have immediately backed off the moment you spoke on it.

“Ah, dearest, it’s been a while,” Sanji cooes to you as he lowered himself to your eye level. There is a ridiculous amount of excitement in his eyes that you almost laugh. “Robin, it’s unfair you don’t bring her around here more often.”

“It’s not my call,” Robin amuses, taking another sip of her wine.

“Exactly,” You confirm as you look straight into Sanji’s eyes. With your free hand, you playfully pat his cheek, your voice sweet but words sharp. “Perhaps I _don’t_ want to see you.”

A pleasurable noise of exclamation sounds out of him. You hear Robin’s whisper of a laugh she breathed out into her wine glass. Sanji’s voice comes out not as smoothly as before as his spiked excitement comes out cracked and eager.

“I love when you break my heart like that! So charismatic and deadly, like daggers of pleasurable l-”

“How is everyone?” You pat his face faster and firmer. His face was so soft despite his rough stubbles he decided to grow out. “How are you kids?”

With the limited time the chef had, Sanji and Robin chats and brings you up to date with Luffy and the gang. As you are listening, you find yourself staring at the woman before you. Robin has been through thick and thin with you, both of you having to fight and fend for yourselves, both finding solace within each other. Through the pain, you had found yourselves clinging onto each other’s intimacy in a way that cannot be described as a lover or friend.

Amongst fighting your way out of your childhood and adolescent years, a space was curated for a specific tenderness that Robin and you could never ever put into words. It is a tenderness sacred to the both of you and you guys both cling onto it firmly, not allowing it to ever disappear even when the tides were long gone and you guys made it out alive. You are witnesses to each other’s lives now, watching each other try to live beyond the confines of coping. And honestly, you would not have it any other way.

You stare at her smile, so carefree and generous – so at ease. No longer was the Robin that made her happiness and trust rare and exclusive to you and it felt right. Her freedom felt more than right, like the justice the both of you needed. The more her smile and love reaches others, the more beautiful she becomes. You understood how much it means for Robin to smile openly in public, to call one by one’s actual name, to laugh and drink till her cheeks were a faint tinge of pink. It was a magnificent thing to bear witness. Growth was already so rare to watch in life, so it made it that much more tender. As you watch her and Sanji, you feel grateful for her family. One day, you hope to look at a group of people the way Robin does with these folks. They are family to her, but in-laws and distant relatives she had introduced to you.

As if sensing your slowly spiraling thoughts, Robin shifts her gaze to you in the middle of Sanji’s conversation, giving you an assuring smile.

“That’s so great,” Sanji now turns to you, gently pulling you out of your thoughts. His hand lightly gives your hand a squeeze and your heart warms. “Congratulations on the new job!”

You laugh as you thank him for his kindness.

“So, you’ll probably meet Luffy’s brother then,” Sanji brought up. “Now that he’ll be your boss.”

“Luffy has a brother?”

“Two, actually,” Robin notes. Almost simultaneously, like as if it had happened too often, both Sanji and Robin comments. “Complicated family.”

“I-I see.”

“Well,” Sanji starts again. “If you guys feel comfortable enough to wait it out for another hour, I’ll be off and we can all head out and celebrate your new job. Besides, it really has been a while since we’ve last seen you, beautiful.”

You look at him and see a friend’s smile. Looking across the table you see a smile of one of your soulmates, watching you as she continued to sip on her wine, a note of delight dancing in her eyes as it usually does each time she took a taste. Perhaps tonight you might get shit-wasted for once. You have a whole week to rest anyway. Placing a gentle hand on his arm, you look away from Robin to give Sanji the sweetest smile you can milk. Your thumb brushes his soft sleeve as your voice lowers.

“If you give us another complementary bottle, I will wait for you, endlessly. Eagerly.” You bunch your eyebrows together and tighten your grip on his arm before whispering out your last word, eyes never leaving his. You even dare to lean in just a bit closer, close enough to know he can smell your perfume.

“ _Achingly_.”

The blonde was gone in a second with a hand covering his nose bleed, yelling in a parched voice for another bottle of Robin’s favorite wine – on the house. Turning back to her, you and Robin cheer and clink your glasses together, your eyes never leaving each other’s. You guys cheer in silent agreement that, yes, perhaps it is time to visit Nami.

-

You groan as you feel the edge of your mattress dip beside you.

“Morning,” a smooth voice speaks through a smile. You groan again as you feel Robin stroke your hair.

“Are they gone yet?”

“No,” her voice sounds as raspy as yours, proving she had just as much fun last night as you all did. “Still knocked out, unfortunately. But Sanji is whipping up some coffee. Would you like?”

You groan again. Bless the gods for not giving you a headache, just absolute exhaustion. Bless the gods for Sanji also.

“Yes,” you croak into your pillow. “Please.”

You feel her fingers run through your hair one last time and a peck on your head before her presence disappears from you. You groan again. Although the abnormal amount of alcohol did not get to your head, it had gotten to every joint in your bones. You feel numb and sore. You can hear multiple snores in the living room of your loft. You try to turn over to the other side of your bed, only to hit a slim body. You hear a woman groan.

“Sorry Nami,” you speak in a hushed tone as you remove the covers from yourself and tuck the young woman in. Getting up, you take a moment to recollect yourself as you sit upright. You were never drinking with the gang again. You have no idea how Robin keeps up with them. You stretch, arms reaching up towards your ceiling, inducing another groan from your throat as you hear some of your joints crack a bit too eagerly. You were too old for this.

Someone’s phone has been ringing outside. You look around for your own and find it on your bedside. Habitually, you reach for it only to stop and realize you no longer needed to check messages and emails. You are no longer a manager. A sense of awkwardness was felt. You try to relax your shoulders and decide to get up and wash up in the adjoining bathroom. After, you take out painkillers from your bathroom cabinet and place it at the bedside for Nami. You step out your room to leave the hungover woman to rest. Closing the door behind you, you look in dawning horror at the sight before you.

“What the fuck.”

Your entire living room is a mess. Bodies sprawled out, empty bottles littered the floor, articles of clothing accented your room like pillows and throws. Someone appears to be naked. You rubbed your eyes as you look around again, counting the bodies.

1…2…3…4…

You look up past the living room to the open kitchen. Sanji looks like he almost belonged there. Robin is at the kitchen counter, looking at the newspaper. The smell of coffee reaches you.

5…6…

Confused, you start over.

So, one in the bedroom awfully hungover, you mentally note. You look down and see Moss Head across from you. Right. The cocky brat was with us. The only one who beat you in the drinking competition before you finally blacked out.

Two…

“Good morning, my morning dove,” you hear Sanji call out to you.

Three, you count the blonde, ignoring him swooning over your braless and much too revealing tank top with your loose sweats hanging too low on your hip. Your eyes land on Robin, who moved away from his spilled blood on the counter. Four…

Rooted in your place, you turn to the noisy Luffy, snoring up an engine. He is passed out on the floor, an arm over and almost choking a knocked out Usopp while half his body is laid awkwardly on the coffee table. Five and Six.

You look at the bare back of someone, a huge odd purple tattoo on it. He is also snoring into your couch, completely face down. Is he alive?

…Seven?

You locate the phone that was still ringing. You watch from the corner of your eye Usopp stirring, throwing an empty bottle at the stranger on your couch. Your eye twitches as the bottle lands on your messed up rug, the little remaining liquid in the bottle thankfully unable to slip out. The body on the couch is still unmoving.

“Answer your damn phone,” Usopp mutters before flinging Luffy’s arm away. The poor kid’s arm hit your coffee table with a thud so loud it made you wince. You slowly walk over Luffy and reach to pick up and answer whoever’s phone.

God knows if someone has been looking for any of them. You have played mother role during wild nights way more often than you would like to admit. You crack an amused smile at the word ‘Mother Hen’ displayed on the screen, confirming your thoughts. You answer, your raspy, hungover morning voice cracking and betraying you.

“Hello?”

“…Uh, hi hello.”  
  
A deep voice just as tired as yours is heard from the other line. This person must have also woken up, as his voice is as barely audible as yours.

“I’m sorry, I’m looking for Ace? Is he there with you?”

Right. Ace. You look down at the young adult planted face down on your couch. You stare at his abnormally large back tattoo. Memories of last night’s chaos slowly seeps back into your mind.

“Yeah, your naked boy’s knocked out on my couch right now.”

“Right,” the person notes, like it was a regular thing. You almost laugh at the other person on the line sighing in exhaustion after his voice croaks and gives out on him. You couldn’t help your own curiosity.

“You also drank gasoline last night? Or moonshine?”

A small chuckle sounds on the other line. “Is there a difference?”

“Well,” you give yourself a few seconds to add a dramatic effect. “Depends on the company.”

Another strangled but polite laugh rings out before he continues. “Moonshine. I was with family. You?”

“Lucky,” your parched throat continues to betray yourself. “Gasoline. Ace was with us.”

“It’s always gasoline if Ace is there.”

“Luffy too.”

“Oh,” a note of pleasant surprise enters his voice, inducing another crack. From his tone, he seems to know Luffy enough to understand. “Then I pray for your body. Well, I’d like to pick Ace up if that’s alright with you.”

“Gladly.” You proceed to recite your address to the stranger. “Can I get an estimate time? He’s pretty knocked out. I might need to carry him to you.”

It seems to not surprise the person on the other line, but there is an apologetic tone in his voice. “No need to strain yourself. If anything, I’ll come carry his dumbass. I’m actually pretty close by, around five to minutes? Your location is on my way to work, conveniently.”

“It seems I live to serve,” you spoke before you can stop yourself. “I’ll roll him down the stairs for you, no problem.”

“Honestly, do it,” the man on the other line breathed out in his tired voice again, but this time you can hear the smile as he spoke. It seems Ace was always a handful. “He probably deserves it.”

“I agree. He did believe he can outdrink me last night,” you amuse. “Well, do call when you get here. If he’s not awake, I’ll pick up the phone again and we can proceed to load this log onto your car.”

“Easy plan. Sounds like a date.” Mother Hen’s voice now slightly mischevious. “I’ll have my trunk ready so let us hope for the best. I’ll be waiting, Juliet.”

“Oh Romeo, don’t die on me any time soon.” You were smiling as you bid him farewell and hung up. You toss the phone towards Ace’s body.

Slowly, you remember this raven-hair dude. He had just come back from college. He had studied abroad somewhere and traveling about, as you recall him mentioning. Wasn’t he graduating or graduated? You make your way towards the kitchen, purposely stepping on a knocked out Zoro along the way, as you were still unable to let go losing to him last night.

You remember when Ace barged into The Grove last night. Apparently, he had called Luffy and dropped in as a surprise. But when he came, he was already pretty tipsy and abnormally hungry. Mentioned something about temporarily leaving another party, the young handsome man was a complete mess and Luffy, apparently seeing him for the first time in years, was too ecstatic. At that very moment, the already chaotic party became even more chaotic.

Then you remember how, in your tipsy generosity, you opened the door to your apartment for the entire group since Nami’s boss kicked you guys out for the night. You guys were too rowdy and too violently happy. The last thing you remembered was an epic duel between Luffy and Usopp in your living room, and you blacking out when attempting to challenge Zoro on a drinking challenge right after you had beat Ace.

But you remember, before Ace had knocked out from losing the challenge, the alcohol did make the two of you hit it off in very friendly terms. Alcohol is a powerful and magical accelerant in bonding two strangers, even if it was for one night. With the right people, for one night you were able to find a new best friend. So last night, because it seemed Robin, you, and Ace were the oldest in the group, Ace and you managed to converse and talk endlessly as the alcohol continued to pour in. Before you realized it, you found out Ace’s college adventures, his goals and aspirations, and how it seemed he had a rougher childhood than Luffy.

Ace and you had gotten along the moment the alcohol had exposed how for the both of you, your brash and cocky demeanors sometimes came out of fear of the world. It was something that differed you from Robin but found common in Ace – that sometimes a bold and cocky attitude is what is needed to get shit going. Fake it till you make it, as you both said in unison, cheering another pint of harsh liquor before downing it, letting it burn away what you guys dared to admit a second ago.

Alcohol, in the most rarest moments, will give you a fleeting one to two hours of a stranger’s soul. For alcohol had its own time and own dimension, where a secret can be spoken out and passed over a stranger’s head with no consequences. You and Ace seemed to mutually recognize this privilege last night as Ace shared past memories with Luffy and Sabo, and then eventually, an apparent history with a childhood friend named Dahlia who was apparently on his mind so much that alcohol could not distract him from her. You and Robin, in similar drunken stupor, spent god knows how long separated from the group to sit Ace down, prep talking him about unrequited love.

You almost smile at the memory when you remember the wistful look on Ace’s face as he spoke of this Dahlia. His face showed a person ridiculously and helplessly sick in love. It was in the way he grew so quiet talking about her, like he feared just speaking her name out into the universe in any way other than a childhood friend would scare her away. It was in the way his mind seemed to drift and his eyes became glossier. It was in the way alcohol, as wonderful of an accelerant as it is, could never soften his face like the way the sound of her name does. It was probably why Robin and you had enthusiastically gave and offered words of encouragement like endeared older sisters, sending all your love and best wishes to this young man you have just met.

“So sorry for the mess,” a tired voice breaks you out of your thoughts. You find yourself staring at the now fully awake Ace, who had approached the kitchen as he put back his shirt. He looks disgustingly hungover. “Let me help you clean up.”

“Nah, you look like you got wrecked real bad by me,” you spoke smugly, your teasing clearly irritating the young man’s pride. You dramatically cover both your cheeks in mocked bashfulness as you continue. “Was it as good for you as it was for me?”

The young man groans. “You got lucky. I was drinking with my brothers before I got to you guys.”

Brothers?

“Well, I don’t need your help. I don’t want you to do further damage to my place,” you continue, too tired to think. “If you can’t hold your liquor, you can’t maintain my home.”

Ace rolls his eyes as he shakes his head. “You sound like my brother.”

“Which one,” Robin and Sanji both drawl out in unison.

Ace’s phone alerts him of multiple text messages and he is now checking the amount of unread messages, missed calls, and voicemails. He sighs as his dead eyes scan through them.

“Oh, a _mother hen_ is coming to pick you up soon,” you mention to him. “Should be any moment now.”

At that very moment, his phone lights up again. Cursing under his breath, he immediately gets up from the seat he just settled in. The three of you at the kitchen watch him walk over to Luffy. With one arm, Ace lifts him up and hurls his younger brother over his shoulder. Luffy’s strangled snores becomes a lot clearer now. You get up to follow Ace to the door after he thanked and waved Sanji and Robin goodbye.

“Probably worried everyone again,” Ace muttered. “Should head back now.”

You walk ahead of him to open your apartment door. You stare at Luffy’s limp body. “You need any help though?”

Ace immediately declines your offer, expressing his regret and guilt from partaking in crashing your place and messing up your nice living room. The young man was so polite with such etiquette that you question whether Ace is truly Luffy’s brother. With Luffy still over his shoulder snoring away, Ace gives you a half hug. Although it was light and polite, much was said through it. _Thank you for one night to be free of normal hours._ As you pat his back, a thought dawned on you and you quickly call out to him.

“Oh hey, tell Mother Hen guy to reconsider stopping by the apothecary, since Juliet didn’t make it. But better luck next time.”

A very confused face is given to you, but you are assured the message will be relayed to Mother Hen. Ace expresses one last expression of gratitude before he closes the door behind him. Making your way back towards your seat next to Robin, you notice Zoro was also fully awake, now standing by Robin at the kitchen counter as Sanji almost slapped the loaf of bread onto Zoro’s plate like dog food.

“Sabo, was it?” you ask Robin as you seated yourself next to her again. You remember Sabo was going to be your boss and was the other brother of Ace and Luffy. “Sabo came to pick them up?”

“Doubt it,” Robin answers. She sips her cup and peer at her phone. “He’s at work already.”

You look at Robin, utterly confused. Robin returns your look with the same innocent confusion, but you do not speak on it. You were just too tired. Sanji had placed a newly brewed cup of coffee down before you, replacing the one that had gone cold. You could not hide the smile as the aroma melts away your exhaustion.

“Anyway, love,” Sanji starts. Your bedroom door opens and out came a disheveled, pretty, orange-haired woman. Before he devotes his entire attention to the lovely woman, he takes your hand in his and gives it a peck on the hand. Zoro does not even attempt to hide his mocked retching.

“Congratulations on your new job. Hope you enjoy the rest of your week before you start a new chapter in your life.”

And with that, Sanji leaves your side to tend to Nami, and both Zoro and Robin casually lifts their cup of coffee to you in silence, and you do the same in a grateful manner. A waft of citrus scent enters to your left as you feel a soft peck on the cheek by the just awakened orange-haired woman, who also congratulates you. You look back at Robin again, her eyes on you once more like they always have. Always on you no matter how far in life the both of you go - her love expanding, reaching through these people and back to you.

To a new chapter.

And you spend the whole week of rest attempting to brace that idea, in all your anxiety and fear. You spend your idle week restless, wondering if you will ever achieve your own kind of expanded space like Robin has. Or would you, just like Robin had mentioned at dinner, let go of moments and opportunities for the sake of security – for the sake of settling?

You felt odd not getting up early in the mornings for work, not fulfilling your nightly routines after work - these small usual routines you had lived by for years and helped you stay rooted in the present. You performed each routine like treaded footsteps on a untouched dirt path, hoping if you continuously walk over it in a sort of loop, your footsteps may weather the ground down, ingraining in this world some sort of mark in remembrance of you. So the idea that you were leaving the space you spent years treading on over and over and over again struck within you an unsettling fear as you visualized fresh, untouched ground. Just how deep can your footsteps sink this time around? How quickly will the seasons overcome and turn your old patch of ground back to new, leaving not a single trace of you left? What can you exactly return to then, if you do need a place to fall back to?

But during that week of rest and after, it never occurred to you that your spiraling anxiety and insecurity prevented you to see that your routines – your small, carefully treaded footsteps, never faded. It may not be physically seen like patterns on a dirt path, but it was shown in the decrease of your regulars in the coffee shop. You are unable to witness how these older regulars, who found comfort in your playful banter and open ears, have found Maya’s management too energetic for them to keep up with after a long day of work. You do not get to see how your small footsteps were deep enough for even Maya to spot as a pattern on the ground to trace and follow, the way she organizes and speaks to her team. Nor can you ever see the way Maya sometimes wonders how exactly you survived years in this shop. It is in the moments when she was having a terrible day and wishes you were there again during rush hour. It is in what she looks for when she is hiring.

In the midst of embracing this new chapter in your life, you have once again let it slip by you that the impressions you have sharpened and fine-tuned so much already seeps into spaces like these, in the back of minds – in memories, corners and crevices of consciousness because it is in details that you absorb and scatter yourself into, so much so that you did not really know how to recuperate and feel a hundred percent during rest. When and how do you know you feel whole when you have done nothing but work in fractures?

You continued to devote your time like this in the next two years, completely unaware as you occasionally travel back and forth for the agency you started under. Once again, you build up your routines, your small rituals, remarks, connections, attitude, musings – all and everything that can help you get through everyday life, bearing weight on yourself as you measure how deep your footsteps will sink this time. So you allow yourself to dissolve into details, allow yourself to devote so much of it into the little minuscule things that seem to, at the surface level, have no importance to others.

New morning routines, night routines, demeanors you decide to hold, trivial preferences of those around you. Like how Robin will not open a book on a trip until she is on her way back home, so when you travelled with her, you always made sure to pack some melatonin for her. How Koala, a new coworker you had quickly gotten so close to when you were still working for Sabo, was actually very particular and specific despite her happy-go-lucky demeanor. So you always had her latte in the morning, her caramel macchiato in the afternoon, and knew she always needed her left side of the desk to have unfinished work while her completed files were to her right. Like how three cups of finished coffee on Sabo’s desk was one too many, meaning it was best for you to check over his paperwork as there would definitely be careless mistakes. It’s in how, when you eventually work your way up and find yourself now working for the infamous Edward Newgate, you find he likes a good Jameson brand before his flight to anywhere. And when he returns from a very successful acquisition, despite a vintage scotch being what he prefers it is actually a vintage sake that lifts his mood even more if you get it for him as a surprise.

You continue without ever understanding how heavy your presence and impressions are, even when people invite you into rituals and routines of their own. Like how Sabo will still occasionally remind you during dinner with him and Koala that he has someone he would like to set you on a blind date with, in which you, out of pure unsureness, always decline. Or even when you always find it peculiar that Edward Newgate, the owner overseeing an entire conglomerate Sabo’s agency was in association with, has a very particular liking to your detailed and strict work ethic despite your playful and mischevious attitude, because it reminds him of one of his dear sons.

You don’t realize the very same impressions of your footsteps you thought you lost were what led your now current boss to express to Sabo back then that he wanted you to be more involved with overseeing particular local companies rather than traveling and communications like Robin. You did not stop to realize how, despite you deciding to transfer to work directly under Newgate, Sabo and Kaola along with your old company kept in touch with you so closely. You do not even stop to think about the many times Newgate invites you to his family parties, but you will always decline to ensure the next day his schedule runs smoothly without him, so he can have an extra day off and be a father. Because you are always so busy looking down to make sure where your footing was, before you realized it, you had found more and more folks to introduce to Robin whenever she came back from her travels. Like in-laws, relatives.

If only you had learned that even the absence of you can leave imprints, maybe you would notice how often your current path would cross old paths you thought you would never find again. Like how, for a particular regular in that coffee shop, it was in the ridges left in the absence of you that made him see the path you laid and left. Despite the rain, snow, hail, leaves – your footprints were there, in the way your impressions have become ghosts whenever he came in during his noon break. He sees it in bittersweet emotion when Maya grows as manager, who eventually also leaves to venture out on her own. He sees it in how he perks up if a name called out is a bit too similar to the syllables of yours. It is in how a memory of you drifts in his head during rare moments when time is felt more and more by him.

So it also goes unnoticed by you when two years later, you were not the only one experiencing ghosts of your own routines as you found yourself back in the same coffee shop out of pure nostalgia. Now that you were finally back in your hometown for more than four months because Newgate wanted you stationed and assisting in management of your own district, you failed to recognize a pair of shocked eyes waiting in line as you ordered your cup of coffee from a team full of unrecognizable faces. A pair of eyes had watched you wait at the counter for your drink as you allowed yourself to be lost in your own thoughts and your overwhelming feeling of nostalgia over this place you knew had long forgotten you.

Waiting in this slow line, he witnessed you; a calmer, older and quieter version of what he remembers. It was a subtle haunting - your cynical banters, remarks, smiles, your last day – it all ghosted over your present form as you stood and waited for your drink. He saw it in your attempt to hide a small smile as you remembered all your temper and unprofessionalism behind the counter. He saw how your eyes filled with a sense of aged knowledge he knew too well as you watched the new team with such intense curiosity, how your gentle and patient gestures tried to comfort the barista who apologized to you for the wait, your hidden smile now fully escaping your control. His eyes that were often tired, lazy, and half-lidded were now so wide and taken back, unsure if he was truly seeing a ghost. But before he can even process this fresh and familiar footprint that had trampled over a fading one, you were already gone and out the door, your particular order of coffee in hand. This fresh and heavy imprint was left sinking into his head, coming out from the tiny corners and crevices of the same fleeting moments he had long forgotten.


	4. Chapter 4

You sigh, feeling eyes staring at the back of your head.

“Pops,” you call out the nickname that even you had eventually given in to using. “I told you. I won’t go.”

A low grumble sounds from him. You laugh as you shake your head. You flip through the rest of the reports.

“But we’ll have your favorite drink.”

“Every bar in this city has my favorite drink.” You flip another page. You swiftly circle a few errors with your red pen, your notes fiercely marked with pressure.

“Not like how my Izo makes it.”

“I’ll take this Izo person’s word.” You pause at one page before flipping again. Internally, you are almost surprised he dropped a name. Your boss has been calling all his sons ‘my son’, that you have allowed all his mentions of his many family members to go in one ear and out the other.

“It’s New Years,” Edward Newgate starts again. “It doesn’t sit well with me that you’re spending it alone.”

You circle something in red ink again on the next page and sigh. You flip the page again. You regret telling him you were spending the holidays alone. Robin is not going to be back until next month. Luffy and the entire gang, as well as Sabo and Koala have been on winter vacation. You were invited to both, but you unfortunately declined due to work. None of their long vacation dates fit with your paid leave, as enticing as it was. Before you knew it, New Years is here and you have ended up alone. But this is not the first time and having some time alone never sounded bad to you. You have new bedsheets and linen that you have not gotten the chance to break into yet, along with a couple of lingerie and loungewear still in their packages, unopened and untouched. So staying home for the holidays did not sound so bad. Suddenly, you remember you should stop by one of your favorite stores and splurge on a favorite scented candle of yours. You flip another page. You suck your teeth at the all too familiar messy finance report. You rapidly circled all the numbers that did not add up at all.

“What’s wrong with spending it alone?”

“Nothing at all. But it would be nice to celebrate the holidays with folks you spend a lot of your everyday time with, no?”

“I only know you, Pops.”

With that, you smile warmly as you look up at your boss. You are lucky to be working for such a caring boss like Edward Newgate. You thoroughly feel his appreciation for you. You wanted to tell him that he has shown it well enough and you were very grateful – the promotions, the raises, the paid leave and vacation, most importantly the mentoring – you could not ask for anymore. He was the closest person to a father figure you have, and it is more than you can ask for in a job. 

“Plus, you’ve already done so much!” You put down your pile of papers as you stood across his giant desk, looking at him.

Your smile stays as you listen to his chuckle. He still slides the piece of paper to you, like he did every year. It was a nice, formal invitation for you. Every new year, his family party was always at a grand venue, because apparently, even distant families came for such a spectacular reunion. His regular, occasional gatherings were with folks that were already in town and conveniently there, but every New Year, it was so grand and apparently, very chaotic. You always saw it in the workload at the end of the holiday, the amount of sudden loss of money. But Whitebeard as an entire collective conglomerate did not care. Newgate’s Q1 period of Whitebeard Corporation always took a hit just like many others on the financial market, but it was a hit they selfishly imposed on their selves in an obnoxious, collective, and cocky celebration as they spend recklessly and generously on accommodation, food and booze.

“Sharing a drink with you is one thing I have not yet had,” the old man speaks out. He leans back into his chair once the invitation was slid all the way across his desk to you.

You sigh helplessly as you gently pick up the invitation. All white with gold lettering, spelling out the address. So simple yet held so much weight. You know this venue. An investment of Newgate’s - expensive and exclusive with a ceiling that was untouchable. It suits him, being the gigantic man that he is. You believe you would never be prepared for such a party like that in this lifetime, especially when Newgate expects you to come alone.

If only he knew you’ve kept every single one of his formal invitations, stashed away at home. You knew how much it meant for Edward Newgate to invite an outsider to an exclusive family gathering. You know how serious of a family man he is. It is in his own principles at work and his codes of conduct. It is in how he purposely piles up work in prior months before this, it is reflected in how the rest of his businesses all simultaneously do the same. How he even looks after staff. He made sure his wealth allowed them all to rest without a worry, so no one would be bothered. Because you knew and admired so much of his intentions behind his actions, you’ve kept any formal invitation like little golden tickets, holding them so dear to you. His verbal invitations for smaller, intimate gatherings you’ve held even closer to your heart, despite you declining each time. It was more than enough. Looking up from the card, you smile.

“I’ll think about, I promise.”

“Good,” he says in a satisfied tone. “I hope so. Maybe you can meet the person that used to work your job.”

Your interest perks up. “Oh? Why’d they stop?”

His eyes brighten at the thought. “Not getting any younger. Besides, I think he found a better interest that doesn’t require him being driven up the wall. His brothers and I can be a lot. At least you are more hard-headed than he was.”

Indeed, Newgate’s conglomerate is massive. An entire network that was global, thus why it required your boss to travel so often. But in this city alone, he had its own network that you help oversee and maintain. A lot of organizing, scheduling, and reviewing, but you had learned quite quickly that some of his many different franchises were run by his own sons. So vast, you never met any of them during your time here. But you can tell just from the messy reports and documents sent to Newgate’s office here in the city of his hometown exactly how chaotic his family must be.

Amongst the vast companies, partners and associations you and your team in office had to oversee and maintain, the only two areas that you were relieved to not have to stress so much over was Sabo’s agency and said Izo’s associations. Izo was actually the only son you’ve heard of and had indirect contact with. A very formal gift basket, a holiday card – slight connections and check-ins of appreciation that showed he acknowledged your very precise and detailed work ethic that seem to agree with his own company. Every single filing and reports from both Sabo’s and Izo’s saved you half the time, but nevertheless, you always took the time to review them, for both assurance and just pure satisfaction of a thoroughly completed routine. You mock shock and offense as you stare up at the old man.

“Now what does that mean, old man? Just because I say no here and there, hard ass a poor bloke every now and then, suddenly I am the Wicked Witch of the East?”

Your boss chuckles again. “If you ever decide to stop by and wish this old man a New Year tonight, just have this with you - just in case you change your mind last minute. You have plenty of time to think it over.”

“Yes, especially when your New Years parties always last until near noon next day.” You earn a proud grin at the old man. You are tempted to nag him about his excessive drinking but knew this stubborn man will not hear a single thing.

Now that you think about it, you remember Pops did mention something about the prior person before you. His first son had moved to work on his own organization. Not much of an entire company or enterprise but had decided to work in association with Sabo when a giant medical office was set about three years ago. But every now and then, you heard on his free time, this person helped Pops out behind the scenes. An entire chain of clinics and medical offices entirely funded by family wealth, an organization was started to provide free services for many folks in need. The Pheonix demanded a more careful attention from you, as an organization like this would, of course. A privately-owned conglomerate funding in a service that loses more than they gain from it? An absolute threat in both pharmaceutical and medical industry. A sensitive time bomb in everchanging political climates if not carefully handled. But that’s exactly how powerful Newgate’s brand is, for such an organization to continue thriving despite it all. The brand was years of wealth built up, and something else that none other companies would ever have - devotion and loyalty for The Edward Newgate, a man who decided to break his curse of old wealth to birth a new generation of flourishing cities and their small and local businesses. A successful threat.

Your own involvement in paperwork sent to you by The Pheonix office was so flawless that often you left it completely unmarked. Your only concern was giving it an extra pair of legal eyes trained by Sabo and Robin. But it seemed unnecessary. Nevertheless, it has become routine, and every quarterly you devote an obsessive amount of time pouring over the organization’s documents, learning, observing, and questioning out of care for a purpose you ended up holding very dear to. It was a pleasure reviewing such beautiful reports and filings. Out of the years you’ve seen this organization build, you have only sent back and pointed out perhaps two mistakes. You can still vividly recall Newgate’s surprised eyes each time.

“So,” you start as you play with the invitation. “Who was the person I took the job from?”

“Marco,” Newgate laughs heartedly. “Don’t let him hear you say that!”

“Oh,” You straighten up at the name. You smile to yourself as you remember a few years back when you worked at the coffee shop. You can still remember your silly thoughts on your last day of work. What a beautiful name behind such beautiful reports you always enjoyed over a cup of noon coffee.

“I’ve met a Marco once. I like to believe every person named Marco has long lashes.”

Your boss gives you a puzzled but amused look, but you do not continue. You wave the invitation at him.

“Alrighty, old man. I take back my promise and give you a new one. I will really _, really_ think about it. May be nice to flaunt my feathers a bit as your now first-hand man.”

You hear your giant of a boss chuckle in great amusement and in higher hopes.

“You little brat.”

\--

He really was about to lose it.

“I am just saying,” he hears the voice from the other line. “For Pops to set a blind date for me is just pushing it! I don’t look _that_ old. For my own father to set up a blind dat - are you kidding me? Thirties is the new twenties!”

Marco sighs as his brother on the other end continues on. He swears, each year Thatch acts like this. Something about an official mark of time just gets Thatch all riled up. Rubbing his temple, Marco looks up to stare at the clock. He had only a few more hours left before he had to go, but he needed to get back to work. Holidays were not only busy because of patients, but also the leftover workload Pops will always have. He always found a liking to staying very close to Pops, even when he had decided to step away from working directly under him. Family business is family business, and that was what got the entirety of them to where they are now. He is one of the few sons of Pops to have witness the rise of their conglomerate. So for the few of them, it really was hard to give anything of work a break. Old habits never die, after all.

“Thatch,” Marco speaks out as he smoothly underlines something in red pen. “You act like Pops don’t bring up our age and tries to set us up every chance he gets.”

Thatch groans at his comment. “He still trying to hook you up with the person who replaced you?”

Marco’s mouth twitches as he looks around his empty and dark office, like as if his brother spoke too loudly. “I wasn’t replaced-“

Through the phone, he suddenly hears a group of women in the background full of high giggles and laughter, and Thatch’s disgustingly elated voice traveling away. A minute later, his brother is back to bid him goodbye. “Alright man I’ll see you tonight! Maybe call up and bring that woman from last year. What was her nam-”

“Thatch what the fuck man,” Marco cringed as his brother brought up a mistake from recent past.

A mistake he was never going to forget, as his brothers continue to hold it over his head. Marco had given into his intensely long dry spell, and impulsively caved last year - a much surprise for all his brothers who had already accepted Marco now to be a hermit. The woman was pleasant and nice, but he knew almost immediately the morning after, when she refused to leave his place, that she was looking for more than she had tried to hide when they had both consented to a simple and safe night cap. It took him a good half a month to shake her off as respectfully as he can - a strong lesson and reminder as to why he ended up with such a long dry spell in the first place. He can practically feel his body sink in exhaustion as he mentally recalled the countless times someone he got involved with took his busy life as an offense, when he had always been busy his whole life. He had clinics to run, a huge family he took great pride in. Something about a partner trying to make him give these up automatically made him retract himself away from them - especially one who was supposed to be a one night stand. He sighed.

“It was nothing serious.“

“It’s New Year. That’s the point-“

Marco hangs up and carelessly throws his phone across his desk, propping his elbow to massage his temple. No wonder Pops keeps trying to tell Thatch to grow up. He was so glad he was no longer involved in overseeing his brothers as the family continuously grows. As if he doesn’t deal with them enough on a daily basis.

“I don’t know how you did it, Marco,” he mutters to himself as he underlines another mistake again. Tossing the reviewed file back to the pending pile, he takes a new one.

\--

You mentally shook off your wandering mind. This is not the time to think about your warm bathtub.

You were on your way back after stocking up on your favorite but too expensive scented candle, a little holiday treat now safely packed snugly into your purse – courtesy of your holiday bonus. You finally closed office for the New Year, and your heeled boots were killing you. You could not wait to get home and relax. But you also decided to stop by your old coffee place. You did not want to knock out for the night just yet. Relaxing was easy, but a lot of people do not understand the routine to wind down into relaxation actually takes a lot more effort for you. And you were determined to not skip your nightly routine.

But what you did not expect was to be stuck at the café near closing hours, sitting across a stranger by the window, comforting her. You would much rather be at home, soaking in a bathtub, your new candle newly lit. Perhaps, if you can stay awake enough, you can binge on a few shows you have not been caught up with. You’ve successfully thwarted Sabo’s and Kaola’s attempt to spoil some of them and you could not let your efforts go to waste. You mentally shook off your thoughts again as the woman across from you sniffles and sighs harshly, as she is now recuperating from an intense public breakdown.

You just wanted a cup of coffee, but it really was the new year, as Pops would say. So it felt abnormally wrong to watch a young woman in tears, grappling to keep her composure when it was far from her own grasp and then carry on with your day. Pop’s words haunt you, as you understand that it was not someone looking lonely on a holiday, it was making sure one does not end up feeling lonely during the holidays.

And in your past line of work with Robin under Sabo’s agency, things like this almost trigger a unbearable feeling of concern almost immediately. You, Robin, Nami – all of you have habitually, instinctively recognize when a woman was deeply troubled. So you did what you often do when you saw any woman in distress – wave a hand for them to take, if they would like. So prior to the both of you sitting in this café, you approached with a tissue in hand silently as you both waited at the counter for your drinks. After she had slowly recollected herself, you tried your best to delicately ask her if there was anything else you can do, whether or not she wanted you to stay. To your surprise and relief, she had provided a straightforward answer and asked you to stay with her for a bit in the shop. So without hesitation, you waited for your coffee and settled down by the window with her to sit in silence.

You were not a smooth and cool talker like Nami, who can effortlessly distract someone so well that they forget of their problems. Nor were you a smooth and cool performer like Robin, who seemed to know exactly what kind of extra hand was needed depending on the person. You were abnormally upfront, borderline harsh, because you strongly lived by the belief of communication. You didn’t believe everyone has to and _must_ know the truth and everything but the truth, but you believe and trust that open communication is enough to get your proper intentions through. Communication and intention - something you've learned a lot of people failed to understand how heavily reliant the two aspects are of each other. So you sit in silence calmly, and with a warm open invite, let the woman know once again, to ask you for anything else, whether it be a brief chat, another drink, or company to her next public destination – anything you were able to help with.

Saving you time, the young woman seemed to have the same upfront demeanor. She tells you she had a breakdown from a week of intense finals in grad school, and amid her own personal issues in preparation of holidays. And after recently going through a very harsh, complicated break up, today was just the tipping point triggered by a small inconvenience.

“Don’t you just hate it when,” she sighs, regathering energy to continue. “You are sure you have your shit under control - and you’re almost there – but some fucker just tips it over? You think it won’t, but it does?”

“Yes,” you take a sip of your coffee. “Who is the said fucker?”

Her pretty eyes dart around the café, then scans the streets. “Some creep was following me for a while.”

You voice a sound of disgust. You know that anger and fear too well. “I’m sorry. I hate that. It can honestly ruin a whole week.”

“Right?” The young woman’s eyes go back to you for comfort and assurance, relief melting into her face to find she is not overreacting. She continues to explain she was on her way to meet some family friends, something she had looked forward to after weeks of stress and happenings one after another - a whole story of her own that seemed too much to talk of at this hour, by the looks of it. But tonight, she was followed and harassed, and out of fear, sought safety in a public coffee shop.

“I usually can handle it but,” she pauses as her eyes look like they were seeing something within space. “Just not today. Out of all days, not today.”

“No one should be handling it, honestly,” You speak out quietly. Both of you raise your drinks to take a sip. “No need to share anything personal, but how are you doing after all this?”

The woman cups her warm drink as she looks out the window. She is a lot calmer now. Eyebags were puffy, her make up was slightly smudged, but her beauty never effected. “I don’t know yet?”

Although confused, you stay quiet at her answer. She turns to you and gives an expression so vulnerable and soft that you are sure even her closest folks must find this rare. You wonder if she is like you, someone who always try their best not to make loved ones worry. It was a bad habit you’ve spend years trying to fix. Learning how to ask for help is tough.

“I’m confessing to someone tonight. So…I don’t know if this night might get any worse.”

You raise an eyebrow as both of your smiles grew at each other.

“Please,” you say in playful dismissal. “Your night can’t get worse if you know you’re making a move when majority of us don’t have the guts to. Who is the lucky person?”

The woman finally laughs, and it is a very melodic laugh. It makes you happy as you smile and drink your cup of coffee. You lean in, waiting for her to give her attention back to you, hoping she would continue. Your expression is of pleasant surprise and excitement, like a little girl waiting for her sleepover story.

And she does. In your carefully and cautiously approachable space, she shares a story of a long-time friend she has been going around in circles with. And once again, you feel old as you see the youth and brightness in her face. She talks of ‘this idiot’ with such a defensive yet helpless attitude, one that seems to protect herself of her own words as she slowly talked, slowly revealing to the world her soft and tender view of him. Their always and endless bad timings, their missed opportunities when it seemed both clear and unsure, their affections towards each other, the underlying fear of overstepping a line they spent years ignoring – everything of a young love. You find out this was the underlying reason she broke up with her previous partner; it wasn’t worth losing a friend she held so painfully dear in her heart. In the vague explanation to you - a stranger, she revealed a side of her vulnerability and unsureness. You cannot recall the last time you have seen this kind of face, the softening of one’s face. The woman is going to confess her feelings tonight, at a New Year party. A bold woman absolutely in love, you thought.

“Well,” you spoke out as you watch her fall into a self-doubting silence. “If you can share this to a stranger, I’m sure you’ll do it when you see him tonight.” You look around and see the rest of the chairs placed atop tables. The shop is closing. You turn back to watch the woman, who also noticed. She turns back to the window, scanning the streets. You give her another gentle offer.

“Would you want company on your way to the party? We will stay in more crowded streets.”

She looks at you reluctantly. You lean back, giving her physical space to think. After a second, she politely agrees, requesting you to at least stay at her side until she finds a public place she feels safer in, if it is not an inconvenience to you. And you assure her that it is never an inconvenience.

“Thank you,” the graceful woman says as you both recollect your belongings and get up. “I appreciate you doing all this even though I am a stranger. What’s your name?”

When you speak your name and shake her hand, you smile at the awkward gesture. This woman just spilled so many personal things with you within an hour, and yet you guys are just now exchanging names. You ask for hers. The young woman opens the door for you after greeting and wishing the café’s staff a happy new year.

“Dahlia. Nice to meet you.”

The feeling of familiarity of that name washes over you like a subtle wave turned to a stronger tide. But you quickly recover, your calm smile now growing into a wide grin. Deep inside you hope it is not the same Dahlia that a young freckled face man had spoken out into the universe years back in drunken stupor. You hope the said idiot Dahlia spoke of is not the same idiot you had won a drinking challenge over, for if it was such the case, there is a very, _very_ , likely chance you will be tempted to make a fool out of him once more - in front of _his_ Dahlia, in front of their holiday party. This meant no destressing night routine. It meant a bit more time in these boots, no lit candles, and another episode behind your favorite shows.

You think about how this New Year night may go. You look at the young, beautiful woman walking next you, the lit-up Christmas decors in the streets casting a beautiful glow on her, like a romance film set in the ambient streets of Amsterdam. If the universe is kind enough to give you a treat this New Year and let something good happen for this woman, crashing your own nightly routine will be worth it.

“Well Dahlia, let’s make sure you get to confess to this idiot of yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dahlia is OC/first person from my Ace fic, so there will not be any specific physical descriptions of her unless directly from Fated.


	5. Chapter 5

As you walk with Dahlia in silence, you smile at her slowly growing nervousness and excitement. Just a moment ago, at a stop light, she asked you how she looked. At another corner of the street, you even helped tidy up her make up just for her own peace of mind. Slowly, you find excitement also builds up within you and eventually the anticipation eats at your now very empty stomach. You could have had your usual take out from your favorite restaurant at home by now. But you really want to know if this is possibly the same Dahlia Ace had mentioned, and whether Ace is truly who Dahlia is confessing to. For the first time in years, you wonder if you and Ace should have exchanged numbers. But you shake off that useless and silly thought. It makes no sense. The universe will always have its own way, and you were about to find out exactly how wonderfully playful she is.

But as you continue walking with Dahlia, allowing her to be lost in her own nervous anticipation of what is to come, you find yourself slowly become lost in your own, as realization of familiar streets sink into you. You understood you are slowly getting closer to the venue Newgate should be at by now. You even see the popular restaurant, the building shining its lights and towering high and grand amongst the older buildings. Your starvation is no longer felt. The pain in the soles of your feet is gone. All you hear and feel is the fast beating of your heart. Surely, this girl named Dahlia must be going to a restaurant or bar nearby.

You tell yourself this again and again but it seems clearer to you that your direction to Newgate’s building seem more and more obvious, for Newgate’s property sat in a higher hill, right off a main avenue. It sat at a base of a giant park at the edge of the city, an incredibly wise spot for his property since the park is one of the city’s top tourist attractions. You are barely breathing as the crammed buildings decrease, and more lavish buildings seemed to breathe a bit more lightly in contrast to the bustling streets just a second ago. You could not even stop yourself as your mind goes numb and you find yourself across the street before staring up at the grand and enormous restaurant. It is a lot bigger than what was shown in pictures.

“Holy crap.” You speak out to yourself. You realize you were craning your neck – that idea alone made you feel very intimidated. Robin would laugh, you thought. After all these years, grand settings and an idea of a fancy dinner party still made you nervous. You stopped in your tracks, despite the light signaling you to cross. Through your peripheral, you can see Dahlia turning to you, confused. You guys stood, as the green light seemed to watch you, holding its breath for a minute too long.

“Hey, Dahlia,” you spoke out as you stared up at the building. Goodness, the place can run the Notre Dame for some of its money. “So your dinner party is Newgate’s dinner party?”

“Oh,” Dahlia expresses excitement over your recognition. You watch as the blinking green light turns red. “You know of him? Ace’s family always has this big yearly get-together.”

“Well, I know of Edward Newgate alright,” your eyes widened. So the idiot turns out to really be Ace. But you were still confused, as new information is not sinking in your mind. Ace’s family? You thought of Luffy and Sabo…nothing made sense. Ace was a part of Newgate’s family? Now you remember the times you were confused when Ace had mention ‘brothers’.

“Well, you should come in and get some drinks,” she spoke, a bit confused at your sudden quiet and different demeanor. “That’s the least I can do after all you’ve done. I’m sure Pops would not mind.”

After glancing back at the building, you turn your head back to her, eyes still wide. Your stunned expression must have been too obvious, as you watch Dahlia face of excitement and glee slightly falter into slight concern. You swallow hard. Your heart is beating a bit faster.

Well, you did promise yourself if things went well – if Dahlia’s idiot were to end up being the Ace you knew - you would stop by for Newgate after leaving the young to-be couple. And you did say you would like to embarrass Ace once more before you do. You placed a lot of bets, even your much sacred night routine. But this – this was way too conveniently served onto a single platter for you. There is no way out of this. Miss Universe’s hand was too good. You fold.

“I’m sure Pops wouldn’t mind at all,” you spoke in amusement as you turn back to face the restaurant. A loud roar of laughter can be heard even from here. It echoed in these quiet streets. “Especially when he’s been asking me to.”

The light turns green again and this time you do not miss it. You take a step forward.

#

“I don’t get it,” Marco responds as he takes another sip of his drink. He stares at Ace, who seemed to be sulking over something like a sad puppy. “So you fought. What makes it any different from the previous times you’ve fought?”

“Nah I don’t even know if she’ll come tonight,” Ace mutters as he downed his own drink. Marco shakes his head and gives Ace’s back a firm pat, strong enough that it sounded out from Ace’s hard muscles. It seems his younger brother still had a lot of growing up to do.

“It’s like you don’t even know her at all, Ace.”

Ace mutters to him to shut up, before downing half of his freshly filled serving of beer. Marco grins.

They were seated at the grand table, Pops gone from his usual seat at the head of the table. Ace had now taken Thatch’s seat next to Marco, as Thatch was no where to be seen. The entire place was honestly so rowdy and loud, as the night had just started. Food has not even been brought out yet. It was tradition – liquor the first three hours as they wait for everyone to arrive. Food will begin after. If you could not handle your own alcohol by the fourth hour, best go home. That was the Newgate rule. They were at their third hour. Early birds came for the alcohol and for the more intimate reunions, as by fourth hour was when chaos ensued. Marco heaved a slow sigh, attempting to mentally prepare himself and this ridiculous tradition. He felt older by each year, as it required more mental energy from him.

As he stares at Ace hunched and glued at the table, he shakes his head. Oh, to be young and in love. At this point, Dahlia is like a little sister to the rest of them, and yet it still baffled him and Thatch how neither of Ace or Dahlia ever made the extra step, when it was pretty obvious how deeply they felt for each other. Thatch, Izo, Blenheim, along with many others have placed the bet that Ace would eventually make a move. Marco and Pops have always placed their bets of Dahlia. Always. They knew the moment she had beaten Ace in a wrestling match when they were eleven and twelve and made Ace cry, which resulted in a sulking Dahlia comforting him. Since then Ace had been glued to that crazy girl. But thankfully so, as it had helped Ace a lot as he grew up, especially during the roughest times when he needed to be simmered down. Marco wonders when he and Pops will be getting their money.

A cheerful roar from Pops echoes. Marco and Ace perk up in alarm, only to find their old man heading towards someone at the entrance, reaching down towards someone next to Dahlia who had just arrived. Marco watched the beautiful young woman scan the area and meet Ace’s, then Marco’s. A smile grew on her face.

“See,” Marco nudged Ace with his elbow. “It’s been how many years and you have yet to know shit.”

“Shut up,” Ace muttered, but he was already up and gone from Marco’s side, making his way to Dahlia.

Pops voice continues to roar in the venue, a sign he was very much delighted and surprised, something that does not happen often. Marco was not the only one who had his attention at the entrance now, as he noticed a lot of his brothers, sisters and plus ones have paused to see what the commotion is about.

“So you’ve kept your promise,” Marco hears Pops bellow. “You here to stay or just stopping by?”

“Depends on my drink, old man,” a woman’s states, her voice sounded loudly and clearly, challenging and attempting to match Pop’s elated excitement and teasing. It was an unfamiliar voice.

Before he can see a face clearly, another eruption of noises was heard, but this time from Ace.

“Holy shit!”

The same woman’s voice also sounds, mirroring his words. “Holy shit!”

Marco watches in amusement, as Ace disappears in front of Pop’s massive body, apparently going in for a hug, Dahlia’s confused face adding onto Marco’s amusement and curiosity even more. Vocal noises of recognition and disbelief were exchanged between Ace and the mysterious person.

When Pop had turned around to look back, Marco locked eyes with his old man. Pops had a glint in his eyes and he immediately knew something was up, because the look was way too intentional. Pops had looked for him too quickly. Marco sighs in defeat as he gets up. He knew that look. It was the same look he had gotten every time Pops had attempted to set him or Thatch up with anyone.

Marco downs his entire pint before he makes his way towards his father, once again mentally prepping himself. He just needs to deal with tonight, indulge with the said woman and entertain her, exchange a number that he will probably never save. On a good night, the woman will see how much his family drinks and be scared off, that way he will just send her home early and carry on with his night, before playing chauffeur the next morning for his hungover brothers. Then he can spend the rest of his holidays locked up at home, resting as much as he possibly can. On a bad night, things get out of hand, Marco is stuck taking care of a too drunk woman, and spends the week letting the woman find out in disappointment exactly how boring he is, as he did not have the time or energy to act like a young man who still believed in falling recklessly in love on new year’s night. And he still plays chauffeur for his brothers next day. He was never the romanticized persona folks tend to have in their head, and it was almost effortless in how easily breakable it was. It was a routine he had now gotten very used to, like clockwork. Now it just feels more like wasted time.

Pops, satisfied his son had followed as indirectly asked, turned back around to the woman of interest. Approaching, Marco watches Ace’s back reappear in his line of sight as he had separated from the person who was causing such a ruckus.

“You little shit!” The woman’s voice bellowed to Ace. “After all the things Robin and I told you how are you still so helpless? Get ready for another ass-whooping.”

As Marco approached, his eyes widened. The loud voice, the cocky attitude – the amusement in her tone of voice. Even her posture seemed hauntingly familiar. That bright, happy smile that never had left. She looked amazing, and all too familiar.

Before he can help it, he had called out her name, and remembered it was really the first time he had spoke it. It felt awkward as her name rolled out his mouth, but the moment she turned her attention to him, it seemed the entire world held its breath just like Marco was doing. The utter surprise was reflected in her eyes as well. Her smile froze.

She must have just gotten off from work, as she looked very professional. A small file of paper Marco was all too familiar with peaked out of her purse, as he used to also bring home reports. If this was her work attire, he envied those who got to greet her every morning at work. It suited her and the work ethic he remembered. If she really did work today, he wondered if those boots, as stylish and elegant as it looked on her, was hurting her since she would have been on her feet all day.

There seemed to be a lot of confusion, Marco can sense different worlds were colliding into one place and time, by the looks and faces of Dahlia, Ace, and Pops. But Marco’s eyes never left hers, as they were both just staring at each other now. A lot of things were happening around them at the moment, yes, but it seemed mutual that their focus was just on each other. That, yes, this was happening. A fleeting moment that was long forgotten came back around in full circle.

A smile too vividly familiar creeps onto her face and Marco feels his own smile grow. That smile from the last day, personalized, like his own cup of coffee.

“Polo,” she greets in response, and Marco almost shakes his head. He breaks out into a wide grin, watching her as she slightly turns her head to Pop’s direction, but never daring to look away from him. Like him, it seems she also did not want to lose sight this time.

“See, Pops? Long lashes.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a modern AU with no powers, but decided to include all straw hat pirates as they are, because I love them too much to not include them.

“So you were Juliet. Oh my god,” Marco exclaims in surprise. “Is that how your morning voice sounds like?”

You laugh and held up a hand. “Can we _please_ not talk about that.”

“I could not even recognize your voice.”

“Gasoline, remember?”

“Right, right,” Marco nods his head in remembrance. He laughs at that thought. And you playfully slap his arm before taking another sip of your drink.

“I’m sorry, I’m just…wow. Didn’t know you were who I was talking to.”

“Right? Isn’t that something else?” You voice dips a bit low in amusement before looking back behind you, watching Dahlia at the table. She was so fidgety next to Ace.

“How long have they’ve been a thing?”

“Oh,” Marco turns to look in the same direction. “For a really, _really_ , long time. We add more money onto our bets each year.”

“A bet?” you turn back to Marco in curiosity. Marco puts down his drink, and you watch the sleeve of his dress shirt wrap and form so nicely around his arms. You immediately bring your eyes back up when he looks back to you.

“A bet over who is confessing first.”

“Who did you place your bet on, Marco?” You cross your legs and turn your body towards him. You also put down your drink, your hands clasped in patience. You ignore the pain in your feet as you roll your ankles. “Answer wisely, or my interest in you may waver.”

Marco laughs, “And so what if I answer correctly?”

“Wisely, not correctly. I might grant the odds to be in your favor, love.”

Marco stares at you as unashamedly as you had emphasized on that last word. You smile patiently. After a few minutes, he speaks as he also turns his body towards you in full attention.

“Dahlia. Our girl, always.”

Your smile deepens as you stare at him.

“Did I pass? Leave a good impression?”

You size him up before nodding. “For now.”

“You as well,” you hear him say very clearly, eyes making sure to never leave yours as he reaches back for his drink and takes another sip. You give him an impressed look. You cheer your drink to him as you also take a sip. You really want to thank Izo again for the drink. It is magnificent. You look down and admire the drink in your hand, thoroughly happy with it.

“So,” Marco continues. “How’s it like?”

“How’s what like? Taking your job?”

Marco breathes into his drink from laughing, shaking his head in disapproval as you laugh out loud.

“Sure,” he speaks, his eyes observing your happy expression, a very satisfied smile forming on his own lips. Your heart flutters at how nice he looks. You never got to be this close to him before; he looks even better up close. All his little features and facial expressions are refreshing to your mind.

“Yes, how’s it like taking my job?”

You catch your breath after you let the last of your giggles die down.

“It’s good,” you start. You look back at the table you and Marco had temporarily left to catch up at the counter a bit secluded away from the loud crowd. You try to ignore Marco’s eyes still on you, as you watch Ace and Dahlia together, both red as newly bloomed hibiscus flowers, but still in their comfortable, questionable friendship. You look around and see a couple of folks still giving curious looks at you, a person obviously new to the family. You finally rest your eyes onto Pops, who seems to also be looking at your direction, checking on you. You dread going back to the party. It has already been a wild, exciting hour being introduced to so many people as you find yourself cheering countless drinks. You mentally thank Marco once again, as he had pulled you to the side for a seat and drink, a momentary break from all the overwhelming excitement and a much needed rest off your feet. You turn your attention back to your savior.

“Learning that’s some big shoes I’m expected to fill. A lot to handle, but I think I can say I’ve handled worse.”

“Yeah?” Marco questions in amusement, trying his best to hide his smile behind his drink, but you can practically hear his smile as he talks. “I think I agree. This suits you better.”

“What are you trying to say,” you turn your attention back to the handsome man, pretending to investigate him. “You saying something about how I ran that coffee shop?”

“Not at all,” Marco says with enthusiasm. An eyebrow is raised. “In fact, the coffee was great. I’ve missed it.”

“Oh,” you speak, following his bemused and overly polite demise. You nod along with him, watching his grin widen again. “Oh, the coffee was great, huh?”

“Oh yeah,” the man confirms. His eyes sweep your face as he also nods along, both of you holding back the temptation to laugh. You swore your heart would have also jumped out your mouth. “A delight.”

You guys lock eyes for a while, both taking a pleasant sip of your drinks. Before you can continue your conversation, a guy with ridiculously styled hair joins you both at the counter, standing besides Marco.

“My, my,” the fellow speaks to you sweetly. You clench your jaw to prevent yourself from cringing, expecting where this was going. You’ve dealt with Sanji for too long to not be aware.

“I have missed introductions! Care to introduce me, my brother?”

Marco’s eyes are on you with that same amused look you remember too clearly back when you were managing the coffee shop. You smile back at the stranger as charmingly as you can. But you wait for Marco to introduce you. After all, the man was not addressing you.

After a moment, Marco introduces you and you find that this odd man is Thatch. His charms and gestures seemed harmless, at least to you. From the look of Marco’s face, this was a norm for Thatch.

“Nice to meet you, dear,” Thatch gently bows to you. “If I had known Pop's been keeping such a beautiful woman next to him, I would’ve visited more often.”

You immediately break into a wider smile when you feel yourself clench your jaw again.

“Oh no, no need to think too hard,” you spoke in an overtly enthusiastic assurance. “That’s not needed, dear. We’re introduced, that’s all that matters. I’ll take your interesting reports as love letters.”

Thatch laughs, accepting your gentle jab on his company's messy and inconsistent reports. You had figured he owned this place, with his uniform with the building restaurant's logo branded on it. You offer to shake his hand, and you find that Thatch indeed was what you suspected. He is flirtatious but not harmful. He is very polite and his conversation with you was actually very enjoyable and fun. Marco sat in silence smiling, listening. Before anything continued, you were all called back to the table. But when Thatch headed back over before you guys, you immediately look at Marco. Putting your hand out and waiting for him, he looks back at you confused.

“Would be nice to leave a number,” you explain. “Keep in touch, since this is way too much of a coincidence, don’t you think?”

You watch as Marco thinks about it for a few seconds, but those few seconds were enough for you to figure it out. This must have happened to him many times before, Pops setting him up during parties. From the exchanged glances with Pops and Marco’s very discreet eye rolls he would hide with his half-lidded eyes, you can already tell the sneaky things Pops have tried to pull on Marco. You saw how Pops would stare in your direction. But to your delight, Marco is smiling as he pulls out his phone. You input your number on it, but do not save it for him.

“Save it or don’t save it,” you hand it back to him. You grin. You felt confident enough to believe that, whether or not he saved it, this would not be the last time seeing him. You thought of Marco being Pop's son, the person who worked and understood your position. You thought of your delightful night tonight with Dahlia. You thought of now knowing and having her and Ace's number. You thought of the multiple invitations from Pops and the many more you are sure to get. Something didn't feel as fleeting as when you had faced Marco in the coffee shop years ago. “Up to you. Gonna be a long night for you. But if you need Juliet tomorrow to load any logs into your trunk, you know where to reach her.”

Stopping by, you mentally confirm to yourself. You have concluded you were just stopping by, not staying. There were too many worlds colliding, too many paths crossing. You feel yourself losing track of your own footing and is somewhat overwhelmed. As embracing as the folks here are, as warm and inviting Pops is and how satisfying it was to see him roar in delight at the sight of you – no matter how well aware you are that you have enough energy to last through the night, you just do not feel like staying. It did not feel right. At least not this time around. You have left a good impression already, and you feel the need to leave. 

Deciding a handshake felt too formal and awkward, you take the chance and lightly pat Marco’s arm in a polite gesture. You look at him in the eyes.

“It really made my night to see you again though, Marco.”

As you realize another hour has passed, the venue is abnormally loud and it further overwhelms you. It was not the volume per say, but the warmth in the shouts of recognition, the cries of people who finally reunited with another. You realize these are shouts of love and intimacy you felt you did not belong in. But you are almost there, you remind yourself. You just need to make your smooth exit. You walk away from Marco to head towards Pops. Looking back, you call out to him.

“And for remembering my name!”

You head directly to Newgate but you already see his eyes on you. Instantly, he knew, because as you approached him quietly in the loud table, you hear him.

“So, stopping by this time, huh?”

“This time?” you squeeze his arm. “You still got something up your sleeve Pops?”

Newgate chuckles. “I’m all out.”

“Good,” you grab the huge bottle on the table before him and pour his empty cup. You pour yourself one too, and you lift it up. One hand still on the back of his grand chair, you raise your cup to him, looking up at him. Both of you drink down your cups in silence. As you drink, you internally thank him for his generosity, grateful for recognizing you, for ingraining a mark of your presence in such a small part of his life. For devoting a small amount of time in celebration with you.

Afterwards, you put down your empty cup and reach up to give him a kiss on the cheek.

“Happy New Year, Pops,” you tell him as you pat his back. “To another year dealing with you, old man.”

“To another year you brat!” he roars in laughter. There was a twinkle in his eyes as he looked at you.

The table is loud and rambunctious, and it takes you almost ten minutes to finally say goodbye to everyone. Strangers you were not even introduced to had even tried to get you to stay, and you successfully thwarted them off with charm and light promises of a very vague next time. You tread and tiptoe lightly, making your way closer to the exit. But each step seemed so apparent. Always stopped and greeted. It was overwhelming. A pair of eyes watch you, and you allow them to. You give Dahlia a quick wink and later flip off a flustered Ace, ensuring he understood that another challenge with you will ensue in the near future. Your eyes search for the pineapple head to look at him one more time, shamelessly. The universe gifted you another sight of him, so you plan to take it all in. You give him a warm smile and mouth out a happy new year to him before you make your way out the large building. 

Glancing down at your small watch, you see you have half an hour until the countdown of a new year is done. Perhaps you had the better hand but fell for the universe’s bluff, because you get to go home to your night routine after all.

#

Marco slowly sips on his drink as he watches his massive family now fully together and united. He can tell since the noise is now at its absolute peak, and the place is even rowdier as the drinks and food continue to pour in. There is a wide grin that refused to leave his mouth. He does not even flinch as a bottle fly past him.

Thatch had returned to his seat, sighing in exhaustion but completely flushed with alcohol. Dahlia and Ace seemed to be no where in sight, until Marco spotted them in the upper veranda through the glass sculpture, obscure enough to hold some sense of privacy between them as they sat outside talking. Marco looks back down at his phone. Suddenly, he feels a sturdy pat on his shoulder. The hand belonged to Thatch, but he was not looking at Marco. Marco locks his phone and looks up.

“Pops!” Thatch yells out to their father figure. “Not fair! You went all out for Marco this year. I’ll never complain again, I swear.”

Thatch howls along with Pops boisterous laughs, his carefree tone showing his intentions were not ill. Marco sees the excitement and happiness in his brother’s eyes when they return to look at him. Marco noticed the lipstick stains smeared on his neck and shirt. He shakes his head at the sight and could not help himself from laughing. Thatch may never change, but who knows.

_“Too much of a coincidence, don’t you think?”_

Truly, a bold woman.

“Sorry, Thatch,” Marco amuses. “You might be on your own next year.”

Howls of laughter erupts amongst the table again.

When the countdown begins, Marco peeks up to check on the Ace and Dahlia. He sees the widened shock on Ace’s flustered face as he is staring down at Dahlia. Dahlia, though the back of her head was facing them, had reached up and gingerly placed a hand on the young man’s face. Marco, grinning, looks over to Pops. Pops caught his eyes, his grin reflecting the same pride. They were definitely getting that money. Marco turns his attention back to the rest of his family, joining in the countdown. He cheers, another fill of dry brandy in one hand raised up high with his brothers, his phone still clutched in the other.

#

You tilt your head back and sigh in relief as you hear the dial continue from your phone you were holding, your hand hanging out the tub.

Don’t fall asleep this time, you mentally note to yourself. You sound out another relaxing sigh.

The dialing tone cuts as someone picks up. You slowly drag your head up straight and bring your phone to face level as you wait for the video call to connect. A beautiful raven-haired woman appears on the screen, tanner than ever. She adjusts her sunglasses on top of her grown out and damp hair. You straighten up at the sight of her, smiling as widely as she is.

“Hi beautiful,” you smile.

“Hi beautiful,” Robin repeats. Her cheekbones are glowing as she smiles at you. “Happy New Year? You missed my call for the first time.”

“Right,” you laugh off. You got back home almost an hour after midnight. It is ritual that Robin would facetime you if she is traveling. Every single year, she never failed to make sure she wished you a new year, and you made sure you were there to accept and reciprocate it. Because another year with her still in your life is another year you were grateful for. So of course, it was very odd for Robin that, for the first time, you actually did not spend your first midnight of the new year with her. There is delight and curiosity dancing in her eyes that even the pixelated connection could not obscure.

“Happy New Year Robin,” you speak. “Where are you right now?”

“I actually joined Luffy and the gang. A bit sad you didn’t make it.”

You watch Robin extend her hand until the phone zoomed out. In the background, Luffy waves at you, then laughs and taunts you about how your city is so behind in time, for it was already a new day where they were staying. He tries to deliver a pun, to tell you you were soooo last year, but butchers it. You applaud him for his efforts. You hear the sound of Sanji screaming when he hears Usopp ask out loud if you were soaking in the tub, and momentarily the phone is snatched from Robin’s hands. You laugh hard as you see Sanji angling the phone for a better view you. You notice Brook’s face also glued to Sanji’s, both of them attempting to get a view. You grin.

“That’s not how it works, my love,” you noted to Sanji.

“I know but a guy could try-“

You laugh out loud again as a scuffle ensues, and the phone now revealed Nami and Vivi, who are now screaming at the screen in excitement, faces flushed and beautifully tanned. Both of their hair were damp as well. Sanji and Brook is on the sandy ground now, while you spot Zoro in the background eating, looking at the two poor souls. You reciprocate the two girls’ excitement and even sit up straight, wishing them a good year as well. Your heart soared when you see Vivi. It’s been years. She is hugging Nami as the both of them look down at the phone. Nami looked like she was having the time of her life as she stays close to Vivi’s side.

“You two ladies look sexy,” you call out and clutch the phone closer to you.

“And the same to you, babe!”

After a couple of lengthy and wholesome exchanges, Nami and Vivi were out of sight, possibly still drinking. The phone is handed over to Robin again.

“I thought you’d want to see Chopper too, since you did say you’ve missed him.”

“She said she misses me?” you hear someone in the background squeal. “Did she?”

You almost wail at the sight of him, as adorable as ever. You begged him to visit you, despite how busy of a doctor he is. His adorable voice of excitement delights you, and you almost tear up when his eyes get watery. You watch as Robin makes room for the phone to include Franky, who leaned closer to her to get a better view of the phone. Robin discreetly placing her hand on the side of his face does not slip by you, and you are basically yelling in delight. Franky’s loud voice rings out, causing you to voice the same amount of energy. You miss them all and is very happy to see at least they got to celebrate a holiday fully together.

“But enough of that,” you hear Robin and watch her screen shift around, as she seemed to have gotten up to go somewhere more secluded. “You must have a story for me if you’ve missed a new year call. What did you do?”

“I stopped by Newgate’s party.”

Robin froze. Her phone did not move. She is just staring at her phone now, probably at you. There is a smile that could not leave your face and a flush on your cheeks that she knew would not be from alcohol. A smile is creeping onto the beautiful woman’s face. She is pleasantly shocked, as she knew you’ve been frequently invited, but never had to the courage to attend. You continue.

“Do you remember that Marco guy, the regular I used to talk about from the coffee shop?”

Robin is still quiet, but her silence is loud and excited. It is so different from what you were used to seeing, and you admire the youthfulness of her right now. She is waiting for you to continue, but you were not exactly sure how to. There wasn’t much to say, as you had abruptly left when things started. It might even disappoint her. But the silly thought slips out your head as quickly as it entered, because Robin knows you too well. This, for her, is exciting news. Grand, even.

“Also remember Ace? Turns out he’s Newgate’s son too.”

“Ah. Yeah, he has a complicated family, but I’m not surprised. Luffy and Sabo have their own father figures too.”

“Guess what though,” you continue. “The little twerp till this day could not confess to that girl.”

You tell her your little night playing cards with the universe. You tell her about the coffee shop, meeting Dahlia, about her determination to confess to some man in her life. You describe to her how that led to Ace again, and then Marco - all at Pop's dinner party. Your story was short, but enough for Robin to get her gears working in her head. She is quiet, despite her happiness and excitement for you. She stares at the phone in silence, taking it all in. 

“Why didn’t you stay? Why’d you leave?”

You slowly sink further into your bathtub, but you lull over your answer. “I’m not sure. I don’t know.”

The two of you sit in silence for a brief minute.

“That’s okay,” Robin states with assurance and confidence. “I’m sure you’ll stay longer next year. Pineapple is your favorite fruit, after all.”

You grin at that thought.

At that moment, a push notification shows up on your screen. A new unsaved number just texted you.

We won the bet.

You hear the phone being fought over by Sanji and Zoro now, as Zoro wanted to at least give a proper new year greeting and cheer a drink to you like he often does. Sanji just wanted you, and it seemed more than valid of a reason compared to Zoro’s. But you’re currently not paying attention to their bickering. A second text notification from the same number shows up.

Happy New Year, Juliet.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from here on out it's just small fluffs for Marco because I love Marco.

Marco is one terrible texter.

You sigh as you try to prevent yourself from shaking your head. You reassort the pile on your desk. Carefully maneuvering it to one side, you roll your chair back in order to brace yourself as you heave a fresh new pile to the center of your desk. Thank the gods for Fridays. Today was the last shift for the week, and you can leave this office in the hands of your part-timers and paid interns.

You were not really that surprised that Marco is a bad texter, to be very honest. In fact, you could not really talk yourself, for you were also bad at responding to text messages. You try to not think of the countless unread messages you have shamefully given up on. You understand where Marco came from, as both of you guys were quite busy. But still, you sulk despite being so understanding, because when you are off work you find yourself checking your phone for messages you do not yet get. Even when he eventually does every night after work, it is the fact that you haven’t had a proper conversation with him since the holidays ended and both of you returned to work. You worry as you think about how, by the time you guys may pick up another good flow, the weekend will be gone in a second and you will be back here in this seat, pitifully glancing at your phone for a text that will not come. You sigh as you recognize the reports from Thatch’s own company. You scribbled endlessly, circled relentlessly with your red pen.

You had told yourself that you will play by your rule, which is to just let the universe play its part. If it works, it works. If it does not, well – you were fine before you had his number anyway. You have lived easily by that rule, but lately you find yourself chanting it like a mantra, and it irritated you and your pride. You chuck the reviewed numbers to a large pile of files to be sent back to their respective offices for a second review. You would think Thatch would try to listen to your orders, after all that relentless fawning and funny gift baskets he sent to Pop’s office now that he finally discovered who was Edward Newgate’s new first hand man in this office. You shake your head at the thought, a smile tugging at your lips. You shake your head even harder as you remember one of his notes.

_If my brother is not on his toes enough for you, please keep in mind I'm amazing at flips and summersaults. – Your beloved, Thatch_

“Ugh,” you sound in disgust at that thought while you chuck Thatch’s remaining reports back into the pending file. You laugh as you recollect his silliness. But after a moment, you find yourself checking your phone once more.

Not even a goddamn message during his lunch break, huh? Like as if you are not aware of his lunch routine, after serving Marco his coffee for more than a year. You mentally stop at that thought, chanting your mantra once again.

“Let it be,” you mutter as you look over your next file. Your eyes scan through Sabo’s Q1 report. “Let it be.”

You are grateful Pops is curently traveling, leaving you alone and in peace with your troubled mind. Or else you would have to also deal with a chuckling, amused Pops sitting at his own grand desk across from you. And you will have none of that.

Placing Sabo’s file gently in a smaller pile of stamped and signed files, you reach for another file and found the too familiar logo of The Pheonix. The sigh you let out was a bit louder than you wanted as you open it up. Instinctually, you reach for your untouched cup of coffee. Cold, to your disliking. But you calm down as your eyes glaze through the organized filing, categories, and reports. You see it is going to be perfect, so without looking, you reach for your stamp before you even finish reviewing the file.

But as you hold the stamp with the same hand that held your worn-out red pen, your eyes catch something at the margins of the last page. A financial report for their clinics and locations, one that seasonal workers often gathered to calculate and double check after Whitebeard’s ‘company party’. The Pheonix never loses money, since The Pheonix had nothing to do with Newgate’s reckless spending, especially when almost majority of it was through family funding and wealthy donations. But nevertheless, The Pheonix still needed to report their cashflow as this information is annually published for the public access. That section was marked out and missing. At the side in neat handwriting, wrote a note.

_Will provide once specifically requested by overseer._

_-M_

Your cup of coffee in the air, you stare at it dumbfounded. Your glasses that you often use for strenuous reading even slides down, threatening to slip off the tip of your nose for staring too hard with your own eyes. It took you a while to process the note because your first instinct was of an overseer. You automatically reacted in personal offense from such unprofessional and boldly cocky note; something you absolutely did not approve of. Especially from reports you counted on to satisfy your need for consistency. The hell does this even mean, when The Pheonix always provided them without question? But after a moment of staring at the initialed ‘M’, you shake your head and laugh in disbelief. Of course.

“Bold man,” you mutter as you place the file specifically alone and in one isolated corner of your desk, untouched by the rest of the litter. “Unbelievable.”

You continue, cursing at yourself and the hidden smile that refused to be gone. You peep your phone again, but still, no message.

Let it be, your mind hums to yourself. Let it be.

The rest of the day passes by pretty quickly and the sun is now lower. Winter rays no longer flood through the tall windows, and you feel yourself immersed in reports you want to catch up with. As you were on your last two hours, you feel yourself more driven to complete this last pile because you refuse to pile on more work over weekend. You were so driven on that goal that you almost did not catch your phone vibrating, an anticipating name you’ve been checking for all day lighting up the screen. Before you can question why the man is calling so early in the middle of work, you grab it immediately and pick up, staring at the phone to make sure you did not miss it. The line connected and you sigh in great relief when you hear Marco call out your name.

“Hey!” You greet a bit too loudly, as you were still trying to get over the adrenaline you are still feeling. You clutch onto the file slipping on your lap.

“Thought I’d just call,” Marco's smooth voice spoke out a bit awkwardly.

“Right,” you laugh. “Understandable.”

“Still,” you hear a slight bit of guilt in his voice before he pushes himself to proceed. “Anyway. You’re still at work, no?”

“Yeah,” you peek at your watch. “Last hour.”

“You sure about that?”

You exchange laughs as you look at your messy, piled up desk. To your surprise, it turns out Marco did manage to get off early. You felt warm at the thought of how he had thought to call you even though he just got off work. You look over your file on your lap but the next minute you give up as you put down the file, rustling the messy papers. You could not concentrate. Besides, you have never half assed your work.

“I never asked you,” Marco continues over the line. “How do you like your coffee?”

“Oh,” you exclaim, surprised at the question. “Great question.”

“Thank you,” you hear his sarcastic voice. “Thought ex café managers should be asked that now and then, you know? Just to refresh their memory.”

A smile forms on your lips. “With a Caramel Macchiato, no one will ever know.”

“Interesting. Interesting,” Marco drawls out. You can hear he was walking outside.

“I know, I know,” you express with forceful enthusiasm. You were tapping your pen on the file. "Who would've thought? What a bold choice, right?"

“But I am missing something,” he mentions. “No way you run off of that one drink.”

You laugh. “An extra shot. Two if I’m feeling bold.”

“Ah, there you go,” he exclaims in victory. “Well, I was thinking to make up for my lack of texting, I’d get you some coffee. Would you like company in the office?”

“Good god, yes,” you plead dramatically, earning you a good laugh from Marco. “I need the coffee.”

“On my way,” you hear an all too familiar loud volume in the background. He must already be in the coffee shop. “I’ll be there let’s say…in about fifteen.”

“You’re awfully close,” you start in mocked offense. “For you to not visit more often.”

“I’ll take that as an open invite,” Marco entertains. “I’m going to take a leap and assume you haven’t eaten anything yet. Would you like to have dinner after work?”

“I genuinely would love that.”

“One extra shot it is,” Marco responded. You can practically hear his smile. “I’ll help out when I get there.”

After a couple more pleasant exchanges and the call ended, you gnaw at your bottom lip as you stare down at your phone, your pen now tapping your desk in better excitement. You unlock your phone and text Koala to inform her your change of plans. Another dinner with the engaged couple will have to wait for a later week. You also text Robin, as you would like to have the weekend open. Just this once, you would like to break routine. You would like to wing it, let the weekend be a hit or miss. Let it be. Because who knows?

Koala texts you a salute and a good luck on your date, but it was Robin’s text that makes your heart flutter.

_Excited for this new path. Fill me in later. Love you xx_

Putting the phone down you grab for your purse, rummaging for your compact mirror.

#

Marco rubbed an eye, waiting for the coffee to do its job and shake his lack of sleep off. He knew the weekend had breezed by in a second and was now Monday, but he just couldn’t wait for it to be Friday already. At that thought, he brought his cup of coffee to his mouth, hiding the smile creeping up on his mouth. He knew it. Hardassing his workload and clearing up the weekend was absolutely worth it.

Mondays were always like flipping a coin in his office. He no longer worked as much on patients, but depending on Monday’s mood, he may end up all over the place. Thankfully, today seemed a lot more tolerable.

“What's with you,” a staff member had entered to place his requested forms on his table. “Something happen?”

He is a nurse, a staff member that has been working under Marco for a while. The young man stares down at him in a pleasant awe, taking in his boss in such a lighter, more energetic mood.

“Do I look different or something?” Marco looks down at himself, puzzled at his co-worker’s comment and warm attitude.

“Nothing bad,” the man assured him. “You just look like you got a good sleep for once.”

Marco failed to hide his amusement. “Well I did spend the weekend resting at home.”

Having teased his boss enough, the young man laughs and excuses himself out of the office. Taking another sip of his afternoon coffee, Marco checks the time. Five more minutes left of break. He pulls out his phone and checked his messages. A number saved under the nickname Juliet had left him a couple of text messages a few hours ago. He immediately opened them.

cant believe I fell asleep on the phone last night. omg

I’m sorry:(

u shouldve hung up!

Aware that she is working at this hour, he responds back with a brief message, assuring her it was absolutely okay and absolutely worth it because now he knows how much she moves around in her sleep. Hiding his smile, he silenced his phone and decided to get back to work earlier. He wanted to get all and any files done and out of the way. He wanted Friday to arrive sooner. His mind starts to work like clockwork again as he plans and organizes in his head how much work he should do by which hour and day, situating himself back into his usual routines. Maybe if he worked even harder, he can get off earlier. It was a stretch, since he did not want to strain himself, but he couldn’t help it. Friday seemed so far away. His eyes catch the file placed on top of the pile he had requested for. His organization’s report was sent back to him. His mind halts into a complete standstill. Grinning, he reaches for it, searching for a specific section. As expected, a post it is carefully placed on top of his little note, viciously circled in red pen.

_This coming Wednesday after work, please have the proper report provided or you are paying for dinner._

_-With love (if you pick me up),_

_Your Overseer._

Marco’s grin broke into a smile he had not felt in a while. It sits awkwardly but delightfully on his mouth as he gently takes the post-it and set it at the bottom of his computer screen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...everytime i have a writer's block, my brain just thinks of fluffs for marco. hope you enjoyed this!


	8. Chapter 8

You hear your own exhausted sigh in sync with his, both of you sinking deep into the couch. Your legs were on his lap, and his soft and warm hold on one of them seemed to help melt a lot of the tension you often find in your muscles after a long day.

You and Marco stay on the couch, lulled and marinated in the comfortable silence, feeling each other relaxing deeper and deeper, inviting each other’s exhaustion to step out of your own skins. His thumb is habitually rubbing the side of your thigh, as you watch him with his closed eyes, his head slowly drifting back. His glasses were taken off now, and his blonde tuft of hair fell backwards from the tilt of his head.

Through heavy lids, you watch the man in a state of being half awake and half asleep. Yet the stroking of his thumb never faltered its pace and pressure. You see him inhale slowly, watching the rise of his broad chest that peaked out from his unbuttoned shirt. Your eyes travel to his jaw and neck, as you wait for him to clench his jaw like he often does without knowing. Like art, you watch in serenity as he slowly exhales, and his chest sinks along. He must have had a really stressful day in his office. You’ve learned that Marco often does a lot of breathing exercises in silence, especially when his energy is greatly depleted. Perhaps your excuse to pull you guys out of Pop’s dinner earlier was much needed. As much as the dinner had uplifted his spirits a lot being with his family, enough was enough, so you told Pops you've bullied the tired man into taking you home to rest, because sometimes Newgate’s son upholds his family obligations so much that he would completely disregard his own body. As you quietly sigh at the sight of his profile, you watch his eyes slowly open, sensitive to every sound and movement from you. With a slow elegance, he quietly lifts his head back up and turned his head slightly away from you to look at your feet, which had been in constant pain from the entire day and night. As you watch him, you think about how, as much as he kept believing he is not, to you he is such a romantic. It is in the fine details he often poured himself into, spoiling you rotten with them. It is in his consistency that showed his intense devotion. He had made you part of his ritual, as much as you've found you've made him a part of yours.

He was never that publicly expressive nor was he ever the type to pull stunts of public affection (to your relief), but you've learned it is his way of knowing you - _seeing_ you - was what is so romantic about Marco. Someone sees you in all that you are, and instead of trying to change, fix, or 'heal' you, someone dares to leave notes of affirmation and admiration for you, placing them down on your path to no where. It's in the way he has taken over brewing coffee, refusing to let you make anything anymore. Or how he now lights up your favorite candle the moment you were in the showers, so by now it as gotten to the point where you found it odd your candle is not already lit up when you are spending a night without Marco. It was definitely in moments like how he had overwhelmingly surprised you when he gradually and generously purchased the same of your commonly used and worn possessions for his place, because he knew you will never feel at home until you can perform your night routine down to its finest details. And depending on the hour you leave his house, he now knew when you would forget lunch like the back of his hand, so during those days you often get a text from him, a confirmed scheduled lunch to be delivered to your office without bothering for your response, because his phone would be silenced for the rest of the day. Or how he makes up for his lack of texting with calls, because even his own father can't make his assistant decline his son's call. Pops had tried to set them up, after all. It is in the way that Marco is now. His consideration and thought of you came as easy as breathing for him, and it was the sweetest privilege. You've become a sucker for his own serenade.

It's what drove you to work even harder - you've changed protocol, expanded office and staff, shared your power and position. You have gotten greedy with Marco's affection. You had refused to follow Marco's steps or fill in the shoes he left. You've grown to learn you no longer needed to continuously bear weight on your shoulders like you used to. Because now, Marco got to get off work on time, to exhaust himself in other things besides work as you made sure there would no longer be any remaining paperwork from his father's business to help in. You had made sure professionally, Marco kept his worry over his family business as minimal as possible so he can focus on his own organization. So now, he can go home to you, can afford to spend more than the weekends with you now. And now that you have more time, you find yourself spending more and more time with Pop's and Marco's family. You found yourself attending family gatherings with Marco more than you would like to admit. Something about their own brash and teasing demeanor synced so well with your own. You understood how Marco would find comfort in this family as you had found yourself feeling the same. Therefore, you have been managing well and Pops, well aware of your intentions for both Marco and your own self, had fully supported your decision to change and improve things, despite his own hesitation at first. You had warned Newgate after all, that you were not like Marco. You were, in fact, much more hard-headed when your eyes are set on something. 

You watch Marco take his time gliding his hands down towards your feet, his warm hands soothing your legs. He starts to slowly make work of the heels you were wearing. As they were carefully removed, you wince as the edges of the shoes finally stop slicing into your Achilles heels.

“These new or just painful?” Marco muttered. His voice was so soft and quiet.

“Yes,” you breathe out, and the man chuckles.

Silence fell again. His silence is so tranquil and calm as he removed your shoes as delicately as he could before he rubbed at your ankles. It pleasantly clashes with your own silence, so full of emotion for him as you witness and feel this moment before you. You watch his chest heave out another sigh of exhaustion, before he tilts his head back again, one hand rubbing an ankle, another replacing itself back onto the side of your thigh, once again stroking a patch of bare skin with his thumb, along to the pace of his own slow breathing. His firm hold onto your thigh makes you look at his arms that his dress shirts can never hide from you, even after all this time being with him. The sight of him still leaves you stunned. To this day, you can still call out his name in the helpless tone you did on your last day at the coffee shop. You smile at that thought.

Your love for him was not explosive and bright and electric. It came in a wave you had greatly underestimated. Your once minimal and emptier place now filled with a mix of him. His clothes, his extra cologne he always left here, his books, his favorite coffee beans, his weekly batch of tea he wanted to try with you because he thought you might like it. Surface counters were also littered with pictures he had taken because photos were a hobby of his. Your shelves and table counters placed different cameras for his different moods. A lot of them were collecting dust for a brief moment, at least until Marco gets tired of the little photo-printing gadget you showed him, one that can print a photo straight from his smartphone he often did not care about prior. Since then, this has been his new distraction, as the side of your coffee table beside you show a litter of wasted polaroid film, along with a few photos of you he would take in the mornings. They were photos that you were not allowed to touch or discard as he told you it was carefully sorted - some for him, for you, and rest to mail to Robin, as both Robin and him had a mutual appreciation for these morning candids of you being most comfortable in - well, just being you. Your place was decorated with him and his affection of you, proof of how often he now stays over if you were not over at his. Your thoughts trail to your bed, as it would be nice to lay in it now. You remember this morning when you had woken up alone, but you had found comfort in how your sheets smelled of him.

“I have a question,” your voice sounds out playfully, making Marco lift an eyebrow without opening his eyes.

You manage the energy to reach for his closest arm, removing his hold from your thigh. Gingerly, you grab hold of his hand to place a kiss on it before cupping it against your cheek.

“Are you a god?”

You were on a roll, as another small laugh escapes him. You watch his eyes travel all over your face in admiration.

“I don’t know,” Marco feigned deep thought. “Don’t think a god worships.”

Your soft laugh escapes you as you roll your eyes. But you close your eyes, feeling his warm hand as it strokes your cheek, then draws itself down to the side of your neck before resting on your upper chest, its warmth melting every feeling of exhaustion off you. You sighed again in bliss.

“We need to shower.” His voice becomes as close to a whisper. You would have let your body melt in that voice, but his words make your mouth twitch into a frown.

You groan and open your eyes again, not surprised that he is still admiring you. You wish he just let you bask in this moment a bit longer. It has been a long day. Holidays were coming up. They just came back from an intimate family gathering. On a _weekday_. You palm your own face at that thought, aware of how late it is, and how you had to get up for work in a few hours. “I know.”

With the other hand he pats your leg before getting up, upsetting you from the abrupt stop of his massage on your ankles. And as routine, he dismisses your negative groans, promising to continue once you guys have reached your final destination. He promises to help with your night routine, but you knew his perverted mind meant he will _selectively_ help and try to distract you when you're on your body care. It was his favorite part of your night routine. But unlike routine, he surprises you and gets a shocked yelp from you, as you are hurled up and over one side of his shoulders. You slap his butt, and he does the same in return as he heads towards the bathroom with you hanging over him, carefully making sure you do not bump into anything.

“Marco!”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You clutch onto the back of his shirt for balance, despite how the man had a firm and steady grip on your thighs. “Oh my god Marco-“

“We are almost there, Princess.”

A giggle is brought out before you can stop yourself, and once again you slap his behind.

“I’m not telling you to stop, but leave that for the bedroom please,” Marco jokes, but it induces another set of giggles and slap from you.

But as sensual and intimate your routines have developed around each other, you both were just too tired. You both knew you will leave them for the weekend. By the time the two you reached the bed after god knows how long you both spent in the showers, by the time you had whispered loving things to each other and showered each other with kisses, marks, and teases, both of you felt the days’ worth tax your bodies. Before you guys can continue, you were falling asleep - the last of your energies clinging onto each other’s affection, using all your remaining consciousness to promise each other a morning’s worth to make up for it. The last thing you feel is Marco’s arms wrap tighter around you as he plants one more lazy, sleepy kiss on the nape of your neck.

Both of you guys wake up on time, but get to work very, _very_ late.


	9. Chapter 9

At the start of the song playing, Marco watched you perk up and your eyes widen, immediately searching for his own. When you lock eyes with him, a familiar grin is dawning over you, eager and excited. He is shaking his head warily.

“C’mon, Marco,” you call out to him as you begin to groove.

“No,” Marco says firmly, but his creeping smile already snitched on his forthcoming surrender. You love this song and Marco knows it. You’ve shown it in the morning as you waited for him to finish making your coffee, in the shower when you screeched out this song in terrible falsetto, and even at night if you were lucky enough and it played on shuffle. It was a performance every single time, but at least all those times it was just for him. This time, however, you guys were in public, in front of the entire family. You can hear Pops chuckle at you, along with a couple of the men who are like brothers to you now.

“You know you want to,” you taunt in between your lip sync of romantic lyrics to him as a hand grazes his chin. “You know I’m a sucker for this song.”

“Every romantic song with a groovy synth is your song,” Marco drawled out as he glanced around. “You with every indie soul jam, babe.”

You laugh him off as you get up, tugging his arms. You stand before him more lively than ever, as the beginning of the song was reaching its catchy chorus now. You were smiling along with the rest of the family. Not a care in the world as you were in your own with him. That was what he was addicted to. A world of your own and only he got a part in it.

He was not a bad dancer, and neither were you. But unlike him, you believed neither of you should care, because the moment a person enters the dance floor whether figuratively or physically, they win over anyone stuck on their seats. Your face is in surrender to the power of the lyrics as you devote them only to him. You even temporarily lower yourself to his level for your favorite part of the song, its lyrics have you wholeheartedly mouthing it out to him as you dramatically clutch to your heart. His eyes are stuck on you, the awe in his eyes never fading under his shyness and embarrassment. He continues to watch you groove, watch you lip sync and clap and snap to the beat. You always voiced to him that you were not the best dancer, but Marco loved it. If only you know how much he hoped you noticed the heads you were turning right now despite how subtle your movements were, just to prove you wrong. You continue to groove and jam along, but you never stray too far from him. As you touch his face as dramatically as the undying words of love being sung by this song, you earn a light laugh you feel from his chest as your hand trails down to it.

His hands now tightly hold onto yours despite his stubborn will to not move from his seat. Suit himself, you think as you still silently sing to him words you have screamed to him at home. You wish those around you can see how happy and young he looks whenever he danced with you alone at home, especially on Sunday mornings while you both wait for your brewing coffee. When he finally liked a song you liked, his eyes would close just like yours as he also claps and sways along to your own rhythm, reaching for your arm to pull your just as sleepy, just as funny dancing self closer to him in silence. You close your eyes at that thought, your heart almost bursting at the vision of him at his most comfortable. You continue to serene the love of your life in the middle of this grand venue.

“You tell me this song does not get to you,” you challenge him. He does not retort as he watches you gently twirl yourself around with one of his arm, a smile glued onto his lips that still makes your stomach flip and dance along with the rest of your body.

Even the family does not intrude. They don’t poke fun; they don’t laugh out loud. For the first time they hold back. They’re grinning and smiling, just humble to witness a tender moment they don’t often see from their brother. Even Pop’s eyes are shining as he sat with a serene smile, enjoying the night, the music, and his son so sickly, deeply in love. By now, they probably have noticed and picked up on Marco’s secret he had just discreetly surprised you with at home before you guys joined the dinner. Marco probably feels this, which is why he was so glued to his chair. He shakes his head as you play a terrible invisible bass guitar to the riff of the song. It’s like you always do, but you continue shamelessly, devoting your performance to him. He’s smiling in surrender to you as the song fades out to its end, a smile so tender and personalized for you.

Another song plays. When it is a past favorite ballad you recognize, you throw your hands up helplessly as you recognize this song too. If Marco did not join you for _this_ song, it was utter betrayal. You guys have intimately slow danced to this song way too many times at home to ignore this. No singing, no humming - it was a song that made you both listen in silence and feel it, wholeheartedly. This song has made you guys lose track of time and stay in each other’s arms even when the song itself was long over, high on the essence of the emotions it evoked. It has been a while since the both of you heard this song as you guys now have a newer song, but still, the emotions, the physical touches in the morning as you both embraced each other, the times Marco would softly kiss your shoulder or head as you both listened, the way your hands have absent mindedly caressed his back as you both swayed, the tender silence - all were too strongly tied to this song to ignore it. You can feel your desperation in your pleading voice.

“Marco!”

Your heart is almost out your mouth as you feel arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer. His cologne subtly reaches your senses and how much the recognition of his scent delights you.

Your hands automatically slide up Marco’s chest, gracing around the nape of his neck. You both continue to sway like this. You press yourself closer to him, and he tightens his hold just a bit in response. You feel his fingers snug at your waist. And you think, like many others times, how well your bodies pressed against each other. You guys both slow danced despite how there was no dance floor. You two were off in your own worlds, not caring for the first time how much you guys might be standing out. Today was an exception.

“I thought you weren’t the romantic type,” you speak through a formal smile as you watch eyes on the both of you. “But nice to see you take the dance floor, Romeo.”

“Because everyone is nosy,” Marco mutters low in your ear for only you to hear. You smile wider as you saw Haruta and Izo snicker at you guys now that you guys are at a distance. Your gaze shifts to Pops in the back now, as Marco had swayed you around. There was a look on Newgate’s face so tender and proud that you had to look away, for you could have cried on the spot. You notice the loud, boisterous volume of the dinner party was a bit lower than usual. Another few other rare couples have gotten up to slow dance as well. You even see Dahlia and Ace at one far dark corner, to themselves as they followed suit their own very tender silence. Your embrace on Marco tightens, and a hand of yours stay on the back of his neck, holding it so gingerly and softly as you continue to sway away. His embrace tightens gently, wrapping his arms securely around you to the point you felt your back arch just a bit. At the firm embrace, a sigh escapes you before you can help yourself while the song continues to amplify this moment. A moment that seemed to slow down for the both of you.

You giggle to yourself because you have never actually slow danced with anyone before Marco. You have swayed along to your own daydream and music your whole life alone. So before you can help yourself, you realized as Marco had spent and shared more of his own home routines with you, you just could not stop yourself. Sooner or later, instead of being each other's spectators, your morning routines have coincided. Within these clashes, within these moments of mergence, the both of you discovered another type of comfort. You discovered and surprised yourselves how comfortable you can be around another individual. So lately you've found yourself jamming to music, singing out loud, humming - something even Marco had picked up from you as he hums to himself whenever he gets out of bed before you. It is just like how you have picked up some of his own habits and routines, like how you've found his way of tidying up the place in the morning instead of night had begun to make more sense to you, or how tea time after dinner was now expected and natural. But slow dancing was an occasional thing you guys did and it always came at random, especially and only in the mornings. It was not ritual, it was not routine - but a quiet moment the both of you shared in the mornings, when the both of you woke up and wanted to take a step away from your busy routines.

But you know Marco was right. Since the start of this New Year party, everyone has been on their toes, making the both of you a spectacle despite how you guys have not really said or done much publicly. But the both of you were in no rush, so they can continue to speculate. Marco draws himself slightly back to look at you. He swoops down to steal a gentle kiss before you guys return to your usual form, swaying away. Your ears were burning red, as it is not common for Marco to express or display physically intimate affection so upfront before everyone. A hand on your leg or waist, or an arm over your seat, yes. But a kiss? You take a deep breath as you tried to hide your fast beating heart.

“Hey,” you hear him speak out to you again, and you find his hand rubbing your back. Your hand on his neck caresses him in response.

“We should dine and ditch.”

You drew back to take a good look at this big old man. “You. Dine and ditch?”

You look around in amusement. You wonder what Pops would think when he finds his first son had ditched their reunion. It’s only been the fifth hour. And the countdown is far, _far_ away. The party just started.

“It can be a long weekend for us,” Marco lazily grins as he pitches his poor excuse. You are stunned, barely listening to him as he reminds you to call Robin later tonight to share the news. Marco? Ditching?

“Pinch me,” you interrupt him, and he playfully slaps your behind. You slap his chest in retort. You look around as your ears continue to burn red. He gently takes your hand in his as you guys continue to dance. He plants a soft kiss on it before resting it back onto his chest.

“I know your feet aches right now,” he taunts, but his smile is as polite as ever while he looks around the place.

“When is it not, my love,” you mutter. Your other hand goes to rest on his arm, caressing it. You rest your head back onto his broad chest, looking at your hand in his. Your heart is beating louder as you admired it, watching his thumb caress it.

“Er go…dine and ditch.”

“Well…catching up on that show again would be nice.”

“Er going home.”

You were gently swung around as you roll your eyes.

You found more and more, as well as Marco, that all you guys wanted to do was go home together. Go home and retire to your built spaces, walk the paths alone together. You realize now you cannot go a routine without him. You no longer remember what your routines were like before, and you did not want to remember. It felt better now, because the paths you walked on did not exactly have a sense of a destination, but it felt like the ground beneath you was sturdier. You can skip and dance all you want on it and as freely as you can, because lately you haven’t been feeling as lost doing it.

You imagine tonight if you guys were to head back home earlier than planned. You imagined your feet propped up on Marco's lap, yourself free of any shoes and pants as you guys snack in the kitchen after a long shower ridding proof of your explicitly intimate activities that would take place in various places of your home, both of you checking and scrolling through your phones to stay updated. You think of his habit of holding onto any part of your leg, even as you both watch TV in your bedroom. Sometimes, he knew to rub your feet when he found you rolling your ankles a lot more before you got home. Marco with his glasses and a book he knows he will end up ignoring because goddammit, you were right. The show was really good. But he will refuse to put the book down, a finger lodged as a bookmark while his glasses gradually slip down, his eyes focused ahead at the television just like you. You imagine when you will eventually find yourself drifting off to sleep because as much as you like the show, the days’ worth of exhaustion creeps onto you the moment you lay your head in a specific position and angle in the crook of Marco’s neck, wrapping your limbs around him despite how uncomfortable it is for him. And he will grunt and comment on it every time, despite his hand still ending up securely on your thigh. His hand will continuously graze your thigh because of his fascination and appreciation of how your routines have maintained and kept your skin so soft, just like the many other times he holds onto your leg. And then you know he will always end up turning off the show because he’ll hear it in the morning if he watches ahead of you. 

You think of your middle of the night bathroom trips, and how often you would leave a long soft kiss on his face when you snuck back into bed to rejoin him, because in the middle of the night you get to witness Marco’s face in its most relaxed and vulnerable state. Even to this day, he was a sight to see in the stillest of the night when no one was awake. His soft rise and fall of his bare chest, his grand tattoo you have the privilege to see every day, because no matter how cold in the night, the sheets only end up covering the bottom half of him. He will mutter some dumb shit, telling you to go back to bed, when you can recall the one time he got mad you did not kiss him one night. A big ol’ baby. 

The more you see things you look forward to, the more the idea of ditching sounds appealing. You guys were drowsy from both the fullness of the family feast, and each other’s intimacy in this public space. Perhaps heading home is the right answer. You can explain an excuse to Pops. Besides, he seems awfully occupied with this new person he set Thatch up with. You already look forward to tomorrow morning like each morning, when you always felt the brushing of your hair even in your groggy snoozing. The caressing of your exposed skin, the ticklish grazing of his mouth on your skin due to his stubbles and how it forms goosebumps. On weekdays, he will continue to caress and plant light kisses on you until you stir just a bit slightly in response, making sure you were conscious and aware he had given you his good morning before he left you, then linger over the nape of your neck to kiss it before he got out of bed. On weekends, when the both of you can stay in bed, his patience were proven impeccable as he will continue relentlessly until you awake, and the serene morning silence is decorated with your own intimately vocal greetings he works and earns out of you. Lucky for you, tomorrow would be the weekend.

It was worth it because you get up to see the messily thrown clothes from the night prior all picked up and placed in your laundry basket, the aroma of freshly brewing coffee teasing your senses. A topless Marco in your kitchen for your start of a New Year sounds amazing, actually.

You drew back once more to look up at him. You watch this guy tear his eyes away from the crowd and give his attention to you. Once again, you could not help but slide you hand back down onto his broad chest. You don’t let his small and growing lazy smile slip past you before you speak.

“Lead the way, my favorite fruit.”

At your comment, you earn another playful slap on the side of your rear. Your giggles ring out as your head throws back from Marco leaning closer and closer to you, whispering playful insults right back at you into your neck. Both of your hands now rest on his chest in defiance as you laugh away, a simple and promising silver band on your finger winking brightly in these dim lights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And fin! 
> 
> hope you guys enjoyed. Because I am very happy with this, i'll be occasionally revisiting this to add or fix some stuff up - anything to just display the tenderness i believe marco as a character can provide. So i hope you find this something you can revisit and still find it as enjoyable as the first time you read it! :D
> 
> lmk what you think! Comments are much appreciated and motivates me. until the next writer's block!


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